Page 164 of Ruins
Luca holds up a hand, stopping my thoughts before they spiral. “He’s fine.”
I exhale sharply, the relief short-lived as Luca continues, “It’s your parents. They still haven’t been found.”
The air shifts, turns thick and oppressive. My breath catches in my throat.
“Do you think they’re—” The words lodge themselves there, too monstrous to voice.
“No,” Luca interjects, his tone firm, unwavering. “The intel we’ve gathered suggests your father made a deal with some of our enemies. It may involve the Armenians.”
The floor tilts beneath me. My body is still, but inside, everything is shattering. My father?
A deal with the Armenians.
A betrayal of the Bratva.
A betrayal of us.
I force myself to breathe, to pull my mind out of the chaos threatening to drown me. He left. My mother left. My sister and I…discarded.
I swallow hard, locking my emotions behind a wall of ice. “So, Angelo doesn’t want to hurt me, butinterrogateme?”
Luca and Romeo exchange glances, their hesitation feeding my unease.
“We don’t know,” Romeo admits, his voice careful, measured.
“I’m not leaving,” Luca states with finality, his jaw set, shoulders squared.
I press a hand to his shoulder, grounding myself in the moment. “No,” I murmur, forcing steadiness into my voice. “You have to follow his command. I’ll be okay.”
The words taste like a lie, but Luca’s hesitation cracks just enough for him to nod.
Together, they escort me downstairs to the kitchen.
Angelo sits at the breakfast bar with Nico beside him. Julian is serving them, and I can’t contain my joy when I see him.
“You’re back!” The relief surges through me, and before I can stop myself, I rush forward, throwing my arms around Julian. His strong arms wrap around me, lifting me slightly off the ground in a bear hug. The warmth of his embrace is a momentary reprieve from the tension coiled in my chest, a familiar comfort in a sea of uncertainty.
“How was your trip?” I ask as we pull apart, though I keep hold of his hands, unwilling to sever the connection just yet.
Julian’s face lights up. “It was amazing. I spent time with my brothers, we went camping, fishing—it was—”
A sharp throat-clearing cuts him off.
Angelo’s sharp gaze zeroes in on him, then flicks to our hands. “You touch my brother’s wife like that all the time?” he drawls, his voice deceptively calm.
Julian pales, his hands slipping from mine as if burned. “No, sir, of course not. I’ve been on—”
“Enough.” Angelo waves a dismissive hand, cutting Julian off as if he’s no longer worth his attention.
My fingers twitch at my sides, the sudden chill of Julian’s absence leaving me more unsettled than I’d like to admit.
Angelo turns his attention fully to me now, his darkened eyes assessing, calculating. “Come here, Piccola,” he commands smoothly, motioning for me to step closer.
I hesitate.
Every instinct screams at me not to move, but defiance is a luxury I’m not sure I can afford. Gritting my teeth, I force my feet forward, stopping beside him as he swivels in his stool to face Luca and Romeo, who hover uneasily in the doorway.
Without warning, Angelo loops an arm around my waist. His grip is firm, heavy, his palm a brand against the fabric of my dress. My muscles lock up at the contact, a prickle of discomfort traveling up my spine.
