Page 260 of Ruins
I slip inside, sighing at the quiet. The cool air is a relief, a break from the warmth of the crowded restaurant. By the time I finish washing my hands, my body is more relaxed, the pleasant heaviness of a good meal settling over me. The door swings open; I glance up in the mirror, expecting some stranger, but instead, I freeze.
Jude.
The name screams through my mind, but my lips don’t move. His blond hair is unkempt, dirtied and tangled in a way that speaks of neglect. His once sharp, piercing blue eyes are sunken, hollow, filled with something dark and wild. The patchy stubble along his jaw makes him look like a man who’s been running for far too long. My heart slams against my ribs.
The Bratva and Cosa Nostra are hunting him.
My husband ishuntinghim.
I can’t be in here with him. There’s nowhere to run, except past him, and he knows it. I can’t stay here either. I can’t be trapped with him.
Jude’s eyes follow me, predatory and cruel, as I take slow, measured steps backward toward the wall. A sick grin spreads across his face as he steps forward.
“Stay away from me, Jude,” I say, my voice shaky but strong. “Whatever it is youthinkyou want… you don’t want to do this.”
I brace for him to lunge, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans against the door, his grin widening. The color drains from my face as his hand dips into his pocket and pulls out a syringe. The light from the fluorescents above catches the needle, and I blink back the sharp sting of fear.
“You’re right, Vasilisa,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I don’t want to do this. But sometimes in life, we don’t get a choice.”
My breath shudders. I should scream, but I know no one will hear me over the chatter outside.
Think.
I reach for the calm demeanor Angelo drilled into me. Control under pressure, never letting an enemy see fear.
“But Jude,” I manage, keeping my voice even, “you do have a choice. You can walk away now, and no one would ever know.”
For a second, something flickers across his face. Uncertainty.
I take my chance.
I lunge, my fist colliding with the syringe, knocking it from his grip. It skids across the bathroom floor. Jude lunges, wrapping an arm around my waist as I scramble for the door. His hold is tighter than Angelo’s when we spar—but I remember my training. I drive my elbow up, aiming for his nose. It lands hard. His head snaps back, his grip loosens, and I twist free, sprinting for the door.
Before I reach it, pain explodes at my scalp. Jude yanks me back by my hair. I cry out, tears springing to my eyes as he spins me and slams me against the wall. “Itoldyou,“ he snarls, rage distorting his face. “You don’t have a choice.”
His backhand cracks across my cheek, and sharp pain snaps through my skull. The iron taste of blood fills my mouth as I bite down on my tongue. My head swims, but I fight to stay upright. Jude grips my arm and wrenches me toward the door. But before he can make another move, the restaurant erupts. Screams. Shattering glass.Gunfire.
Jude’s grip is ripped from me, and I barely catch a glimpse of Romeo slamming his fist into Jude’s face before the room fills with smoke. Gunfire rings out, rapid pops cutting through the chaos.
Jude lunges toward me. I drop to the floor. Another shot fires—closer this time. Jude staggers, clutching his shoulder before collapsing.
The gunfire ceases. The sharp screech of tires peels into the distance. Hands clamp around me and then I’m lifted; panic flares. I scream, my limbs swinging, disoriented by the smoke and the ringing in my ears.
“Shh.” A voice, warm and steady. His scent—spicy vanilla and something deeper, something safe.
Santo.
I cling to him, my hands fisting into his shirt as I blink through the haze, my eyes locking onto his face.
“I have you, Dea.”
Santo’s stormy gray eyes pierce into mine, grounding me. I bury my face against his chest, inhaling deeply, desperate to reclaim even the smallest semblance of calm.
I wrap my legs around him, clinging tightly as he carries me out of the restaurant. Blood and glass stain the floor, and I shut my eyes. I don’t want to know who’s been hurt. Or worse—who’s been…
I can’t stomach it.
Santo lowers me into the backseat of an SUV, and as my eyes flutter open, I meet Luca’s gaze in the rearview mirror. His eyes widen in shock before his brows knit together in anger. I don’t understand why.
