Page 3 of Ruins
My gaze falls on my brother, noticing how worn he looks.How long has it been since I last saw him?His eyes meet mine and he places a heavy arm on my shoulder, leading me up the stairs.
“We did it, Scythe,” he says with a sense of triumph in his voice. “We avenged her.”
“Scythe?” I question, confused by the use of this nickname.
He chuckles darkly.
“We did good,” he repeats, emphasizing each word. “It was a long and difficult month, but we did it.”
My mind reels trying to piece together what happened.
A month?
Memories flood back to me in disjointed fragments, bringing with them a whirlwind of emotions - relief, grief, dread. It all feels like a distant dream now that we’ve achieved our goal, but at what cost?
Chapter 2
Santo
Present Day
Whenmyfather’scallcomes through, I’m elbow-deep in wiring Athena, my latest surveillance system, into every inch of my estate. The last perimeter is nearly secured when his name slashes across my screen, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Tension tightens down my spine. My teeth clench.
Ihatebeing interrupted.
But when the Don calls, you answer. No excuses.
I exhale, swallowing the irritation burning beneath my skin. It’s not just the interruption—it’s the disruption of control. Athena isn’t just a project; it’s a fortress, a statement, proof of my strength. My legacy. Built with my own hands. Leaving it unfinished feels like leaving my doors wide open, inviting enemies inside.
The weight of it undone sits heavy in my ribs as I pull up to my father’s estate. The place looms, all excess and power, a monument to the life carved out for me before I even had a say in it.
I park at the front, already mapping out my exit.
In and out.A quick check-in to keep the old man satisfied so I can get back to things that actually matter.
Then I see it.
Angelo’s Ferrari. Gleaming beneath the afternoon sun like a coiled serpent, waiting.
That changes everything.
This isn’t a routine check-in. This is business. And in our world, business means blood.
One of the guards steps forward to open the heavy oak doors, barely glancing in my direction.
He’s new.
I don’t bother acknowledging him. He won’t last long enough for it to matter.
My steps echo against the cold stone, each click deliberate, each movement weighted with purpose. The house feels darker than usual.Colder.
The kind of cold that doesn’t leave. The kind that seeps into your bones and stays there.
This house raised us in shadows, molding us into what we are. My brother and I grew up here, our childhood etched into these walls. Then our mother left, and with her went the only light we’d ever known. Summers at her estate were the closest thing we had to warmth.
But in this family, light never lasts long.
