Page 187 of Ruins
“I didn’t realize this arrangement was an open one.”
His jaw flexes. His eyes narrow. “Didn’t you?”
“No, Santo, I didn’t,” I bite out.
His gaze sharpens, and then he reaches behind him, pulling out a delicate blue nightie, dangling it between his fingers. “Then explain this.”
I frown, thrown off. “What?”
“This was on the living room floor at mybrother’spenthouse.”
A laugh bursts from me—harsh, bitter. “That’s not even what you think it is.”
“Isn’t it?” He tosses the nightie onto the bed as he stands stalking toward me.
I instinctively step back, fury burning through me, licking up my throat.
“You think thatlowof me? That I would sleep with your brother?”
“I think if he commanded it, your duty to the family would force you to.”
The sheer audacity of it sends my control snapping. I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t budge. Instead, I force my way around him, nearly shaking with rage.
“I have a mind of my own, Santo!”
His head tilts. “Do you?”
My breath stutters in disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Santo crosses his arms over his chest, his jaw locked tight, eyes dark as a storm. “Are you just polite toeveryman you meet, or are you being the dutiful, proper wife of the underboss?”
I stare at him, my pulse roaring in my ears. “I’m not going to apologize for being kind and wanting to make friends.”
His eyes flash. “You’re always making friends. You’retoofriendly.”
I shake my head with a scoff and head to the bathroom, grabbing the stupid card I found and toss it at him, he ignores the paper ball as it falls to the floor. “You act like I’m out here parading myself around!”
“You think I’m wrong?” He grabs the paper off the floor, “Explain Ivanov.”
“Pietro is myfriend,” I say, my voice firm.
Santo opens the paper, rolls his eyes and tosses it back on the ground before continuing his interrogation, “What about the way you went to touch his face?”
It takes me a second to even remember what he’s talking about. Then it clicks—the morning the war was announced, Pietro’s bruised face in the kitchen. “He wasinjured.”
“And the way he looks at you?”
I throw my hands in the air. “I can’t control how others look at me, and neither can you!”
His voice drops, lethal. “Yes. Ican.”
Santo tilts his head, a dark chuckle leaving his lips. “You think my brother won’t die for fucking you?”
My breath catches.
“Then I’d be in charge.” He steps closer, voice a quiet threat. “And what would happen to you then?”
I lift my chin, refusing to back down. “Whatwouldhappen to me, Santo?”
