Page 166 of Ruins
To the left, a fully equipped gym, glass walls encasing an arsenal of weight racks, punching bags, and machines.
To the right, a gun range, targets lined up at varying distances, bullet casings scattered like discarded confessions.
Further back, the entrance to a luxurious pool and sauna.
Angelo gestures toward a locked door. “That one’s for guy’s night.” His smirk deepens at my unimpressed expression.
Beyond that, a hall stretches into the unknown, leading toward what I assume is the underground garage.
Angelo watches me, his amusement evident. “You really didn’t know about this?”
I shake my head, unable to find words.
He laughs. “You really are Santo’s caged bird.”
The words sting, but I lift my chin. “What exactly are we doing down here?”
Angelo’s smirk lingers, but his gaze sharpens.
“You,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “are going to learn how to survive.”
***
Spending time with my brother-in-law isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. With expert care, he teaches me how to dismantle and clean a gun, emphasizing safety—keep my finger off the trigger, treat all guns as if they’re loaded. I practice with his Glock 17, and to my surprise, Angelo calls me a natural when I hit the bullseye.
Despite his intimidating exterior, I’ve come to see that Angelo isnotwhat I expected. I try to remember his instructions, planting my feet shoulder-width apart, slightly bending my knees, and taking aim.
“Don’t tense up, Tiny,” Angelo says softly, pulling me from my thoughts. His body presses against mine from behind, his hands covering mine on the gun. The scent of his cologne fills the space between us, and I swallow hard, trying not to focus on the heat radiating from him.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, guiding. “You’ll shoot better if you’re loose.”
My heart pounds. Santo wouldn’t like this—Angelo standing this close, touching me this way. Even though it’s innocent, I know exactly how it would look to him. A flicker of unease tightens my stomach, and guilt settles in my chest like a weight. I grip the gun tighter, more out of necessity than anything else.
“You got it?” Angelo’s finger curls around mine on the trigger, the question hanging heavy between us.
I nod quickly, forcing myself to focus. “Yes.”
“Good.” His breath brushes the top of my head. Together, we pull the trigger, and the sharp crack of the shot echoes in the air, striking the bullseye once again.
Angelo steps back, taking the gun from my hands as I exhale a shaky breath. “You’re a quick learner, Piccola,” he says, his tone softer than before, almost… approving.
I watch as he safely disassembles the weapon, his movements confident, precise. For the first time since we started, I allow myself to relax. He’s not Santo. Not even close. But if he’s here, it’s because Santo trusts him—and that has to mean something. Besides, he’s my brother-in-law, and I could use family.
I take a breath and glance at him. “Do you want to have lunch together?”
He smirks, lips curling up mischievously. “What are we having?”
“I have leftovers from dinner last night that I made,” I say with pride.
“Sure, I can stay for a bit, Tiny.” He winks. “But then I got to head out.”
He gestures for me to go ahead of him, and together, we step into the elevator, its metal walls gleaming under the soft lighting.
The ride is quiet. I catch myself watching Angelo from the corner of my eye. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by something distant, lost. His jaw clenches as he stares at the closed doors, lost in thought.
I wonder what he’s thinking, but I don’t dare ask questions I don’t want answers to.
The doors slide open with a soft chime. I shake off my curiosity and step into the kitchen. Julian glances up as we enter, his gaze flicking between me and Angelo.
