Page 93 of Ruins
“Oh, girl, don’t be shy!” she teases. “I didn’t mean to pry.” She winks. “I’m just curious.”
I blink at her, still mortified.
In my family, no one talked about sex. It wasn’t a conversation. The only thing I was ever told was not to have sex—or Maksim would kill me.
And while I never believed he’d actually kill me, I heeded the warning.
Lila must sense my discomfort because the laughter dies down, leaving behind something quieter.
A pause. A shift.
Then, smoothly, she changes the subject.
“Oh, look at us getting all distracted.” She pops up from the couch, brushing herself off. “Let me finish showing you around.”
I let out a slow breath, grateful for the escape.
We spend the next hour exploring different parts of the house—rooms adorned with exquisite art pieces, hidden corners with lavish decorations, and she even tells me about an indoor swimming pool. She advises me to wait until Santo shows me that himself.
She keeps the conversation light, entertaining, regaling me with stories about the house—some outrageous, some believable. I’m not sure which to trust, but I find myself enjoying her company.
Until she slows. Her laughter dies off, replaced by something quieter, tenser. I frown as she glances over her shoulder, checking the hallway behind us. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when I hear it.
A voice.
Santo’s voice.
But not the one I know.
“Your incompetence is unacceptable.” The words are sharp, precise, and cold enough to make my blood run cold.
Santo’s voice… it’s different now—darker, harsher.
“Please, Mr. Amato, we didn’t—” Another voice stammers, but Santo cuts them off.
“Don’t waste my time with excuses. You had one job, and you failed. The Turks are mocking us now, undermining my authority because of you. Do you have any idea what thatmeans?”
The silence that follows is deafening, and I feel Lila’s grip tighten on my arm, her unease almost contagious. Still, I can’t bring myself to walk away. I take a step closer, leaning just enough to catch a glimpse through the crack in the door.
Santo stands in the center of the room, towering over two men who look like they’d rather disappear into the floor than face him. His stance is rigid, his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. The air around him seems almost charged, as if his fury alone could suffocate the room. His back is to me, but his presence is overwhelming.
“I don’t want apologies,” he continues, his voice dropping lower, almost a growl. “I want results. Fail me again, and you’ll wish the Turks had killed you themselves.”
One of the men flinches as if the words are a physical blow. The other stammers out a desperate promise to fix things, but Santo doesn’t respond. He just stands there, silent and unyielding, like a storm waiting to break.
“Vasilisa,” Lila hisses under her breath, tugging at my arm. “Let’s go.”
Her voice is urgent.
For the first time since I heard him speak, I exhale.
Slowly, I step back.
My pulse hammers in my chest as I let Lila pull me away, her grip firm—almost desperate. We move quickly, slipping down another hallway, and only when we’re far enough does she finally release me.
Lila exhales sharply, pressing a hand to her chest.
The usual brightness in her face is gone, replaced by something serious. Something wary.
