Page 86 of Ruins
His hand tightens around mine so faintly, so imperceptibly I almost miss it.
Almost.
“Julian here is one of the most sought-after chefs,” Santo continues, his voice smooth—too smooth. There’s an edge there now, one that wasn’t there before.
His gaze lingers on Julian a beat too long before finally flicking back to me.
“Would you like something specific for breakfast?” His tone is polite, carefully neutral. “Julian can whip up anything you like.”
But I can tell his mind is elsewhere.
His eyes keep darting back to Julian. Like he’s watching. Like he’s measuring.
I hesitate, glancing between them, my pulse picking up.
“I... Um...” I clear my throat. “Maybe a croissant? And a cappuccino?”
“Coming right up.” Julian’s response is easy, confident, unfazed. He moves through the kitchen with effortless familiarity, his hands precise as he works.
“And for you, boss?”
“My usual omelet.” Santo’s voice is clipped, cool. Without another word, he guides me toward the breakfast nook, pulling out a chair for me.
I settle in, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.”
But even as he sits across from me, something feels... off.
His jaw is locked tight. His posture rigid.
The air thickens.
The smell of fresh coffee fills the kitchen, a welcome distraction, comforting in a way that eases some of the tension.
Julian places a cappuccino and a croissant in front of me, then sets down Santo’s omelet.
“Thank you.” I say sincerely taking a bite, the croissant warm and flaky, melting on my tongue.
A soft hum of satisfaction slips past my lips.
Santo watches.
He eats slow.
He doesn’t speak.
His stormy gaze fixates on me, unblinking.
Something in his face softens—just slightly, just enough for me to notice.
Julian moves to clear the dishes, his presence lingering a second too long.
I can feel his eyes on us.
Santo notices, too.
And just like that, his entire demeanor shifts.
“Vasilisa.” His voice is low, dark, commanding.
