Page 181 of Ruins
A chill runs up my spine.
“Don’t worry Tiny, I don’t want you. “You look nothing like her,” he shrugs nonchalantly his familiar grin plastered on his face.
I let out a breathless laugh. “Good. Santo would maim you.”
“He could try.” Angelo smirks. “Now, time for bed, it’s getting late, and we have an early morning tomorrow.”
Chapter 35
Santo
AmonthawayfromVasilisais torture.
Thirty fucking days, and I’m unraveling.
If I hear one more word from Angelo about how much of an idiot I am for leaving her, I will commit fratricide. I don’t need my brother cataloging every damn thing I’ve missed—her habits, her moods, the way she’s been waiting for me. Iknow.
Instead of going home, I steer toward Luca’s, telling myself I’ll take a nap, shower, and then go to that stupid charity event. It’s not avoidance. It’s not cowardice.
It’s fear.
Fear of what I might find when I walk through that door.
But as I drive through the city, my grip tightens on the wheel, my pulse hammering louder than the engine. I think abouther. About Vasilisa in our bed, curled up, her hair spread across the pillow. About crawling in beside my gorgeous wife, burying my face in her neck, whispering apologies against her skin; begging for forgiveness for abandoning her while worshiping her body for days on end.
To hell with the event. To hell with everything.
I jerk the wheel, making a sharp, reckless turn. My foot slams on the accelerator, sending the car flying down the street. I need to see her. I need to be home.
By the time I hit the winding drive leading up to my estate, my pulse is a thunderstorm in my veins. The tires screech as I slam on the brakes, barely putting the car in park before I throw the door open.
I take the steps two at a time. I don’t care if I wake her.Dio, let me wake her.Let her be in bed, warm and waiting. Let me see those sleepy, confused eyes as I pull her into me. Let me hold her.
The house is silent.
The kind of silence that feelswrong.
My stomach clenches as I reach her bedroom door and shove it open, flicking on the lights.
Empty.
My breath catches.
I step inside, moving fast, searching for anything—some sign that she’s still here. The bed is perfectly made, the sheets undisturbed. Her things are scattered across the room, her clothes tossed aside—but the closet— I yank it open.
Her overnight bag is gone.
A sharp, jagged breath rips from my lungs.
No. No. No.
She wouldn’tleave me. Shecouldn’t.
Without thinking, I bolt from the room, ripping open the door to the guest bedroom.
Empty.
My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out the stillness.
