Page 150 of Ruins
I narrow my eyes playfully at Luca. “Don’t listen to him, Nico. He’s just upset that Santo no longerallowshim to paint.”
“You paint, Cattaneo?” Nico teases Luca, clearly enjoying their playful banter.
Luca quickly flips him off and pulls out his phone, giving me a smirk before assuring me that he’s not calling Santo.
Nico raises an eyebrow at me, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. “You don’t want him to call Santo?”
“No. My husband can callmeif he wants to, but he doesn’t,” I reply bitterly, setting down my brush and walking away from my painting toward the back of the library where the restroom is located.
Nico falls into step behind me, his movements quiet, but his presence looms. I glance over my shoulder, irritation bubbling to the surface.
“You don’t have to follow me to the bathroom,” I snap, the frustration in my voice sharper than I intended.
“That’s not what Santo said,” Nico replies evenly, but there’s a softness in his tone that takes the edge off his words.
I huff, throwing my hands up. “I’m so sick of being constantly trailed around! It would be nice to have some peace and quiet for once.”
Nico’s expression doesn’t shift, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—understanding, maybe? “He just wants you to be safe,” he says, his voice calm, almost gentle.
“I’m trapped in this house. How much safer can I be?” I retort, stopping in front of the bathroom door, crossing my arms defensively.
Before Nico can respond, Luca’s voice cuts in from across the room. “Just use the restroom, Vasilisa.” His tone is stern, exasperated.
Nico’s head snaps toward Luca, his brow furrowing. “Ease up,” he says quietly, but there’s an edge to his voice that makes Luca glance away.
I purse my lips, watching the silent exchange, and step aside as Nico gestures toward the bathroom door. He opens it, stepping inside first to do his sweep. Once he’s satisfied, he nods for me to go in.
When I return to my easel, Romeo is back in the library, and Luca is gone.
“Where’s Luca?” I ask, sitting down and adjusting my canvas.
“Boss called him away,” Romeo replies dismissively, and I know better than to press for details.
I focus on my painting, letting the tension in my chest bleed out through the strokes of my brush. By the time I finish the piece Luca returns, holding a large bouquet of lilies and roses. He sets them on the table beside me, a folded note tucked among the stems.
He clears his throat. “From Santo.”
I pluck the note free, my hands trembling despite myself.
“I hope this can make up for my absence.”
The words are simple, thoughtful even, but they feel hollow. My chest tightens as I look at the bouquet. The overwhelmingly sweet scent fills the air, pulling me back to our wedding day—a day I desperately want to hold on to but feel slipping further away.
I set the note and flowers down on the table, leaving them untouched, and turn back to my easel.
Nico’s gaze follows me closely, his brow furrowed as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. Romeo looks confused but says nothing.
“Don’t take it personally, Vasilisa,” Luca says when he notices my lack of reaction.
I glance at him briefly, my expression impassive. “I don’t want empty words.”
Luca crosses his arms, his stance stiff. “He can’t be at your beck and call every day.”
“I don’tneedevery day, Luca,“ I say sharply, picking up a new brush. “But he could call. He could text.”
Luca exhales through his nose, clearly frustrated. “You expect him to stop in the middle of a war to text you an apology?”
“I don’t need an apology. I don’t need flowers. I need him. I need to actually feel wanted,” I say, ignoring the way Nico stiffens beside me.
