Page 175 of Ruins
I nod slowly, unsure why the sudden shift in his mood makes me uneasy.
But just as I think the conversation is over, Angelo’s eyes linger, watching me a little too intently. His next question catches me completely off guard.
“Has he hurt you?”
I freeze, my heart skipping. “In what way?”
Angelo holds my gaze for a long moment, but there’s something behind his eyes, as if he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle I can’t see.
His silence stretches a little too long.
“Never mind,” he says eventually, but the dismissiveness feels forced.
I almost let it drop, but something about the way he asked lingers. Before I can think too much, Angelo speaks again, softer this time.
“If he ever does… let me know. I’ll remind him how lucky he is.”
I manage a faint smile, but I can’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t joking.
The elevator hums quietly as Angelo releases the stop button, resuming our ascent. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, catching the faint trace of a smile tugging at his lips as if he’s already shaking off the moment.
“Pack your things for tonight and a dress for the charity event tomorrow at Exile.”
“Where are we going tonight?” I ask nervously.
“To my penthouse,” Angelo replies, a hint of amusement in his voice.
The thought of seeing Santo tonight makes my heart soar with anticipation. Ignoring Angelo’s amused chuckle, I rush past him as soon as the doors open and head upstairs to pack.
“I have to shower first, Piccola,” Angelo calls after me. “You should do the same.”
I shower as quickly as possible, toss a robe around me, and rush to pack my things. My hands dig frantically through the closet, pushing aside clothes and shoes in search of my overnight bag. Frustration builds as I tug at the handle, knocking a shelf with my elbow so forcefully that it rattles.
A small white card flutters to the ground.
I stifle a cry, rubbing my elbow as I glance down.
Then my heart stops.
The nameRachelis scrawled in casual script above a red kiss mark, a phone number scribbled underneath.
I stare at it, my chest tightening as my mind races. Rachel. The name tastes bitter in my mouth. A past conquest, no doubt. This has been my room since our wedding. This…thisthingshouldn’t even exist in our space.
A hollow laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
Of course.
It had to be frombeforeme. Right?
Because the alternative—the thought that this was fromafter,fromnow,makes something curdle in my stomach. My fingers crumple the card before I even register the motion, crushing it into my palm before tossing it into the bathroom trash.
I inhale deeply, forcing down the sting beneath my ribs, and refocus.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I have one thing on my mind.Santo.
With renewed purpose, I hastily pack my bag—nightie, toiletries, makeup. For the charity event, I select one of my sexiest yet elegant dresses, slipping it into a garment bag to keep it pristine. It’s a calculated choice, one designed for a reaction.
