Page 11 of Ruin
“Antonio?”
“Jesus, Dad, can you stop?”
“I know you don’t want to hear it, but Antonio has come a long way in the past few years, and he’s definitely better than a Demonio.” He crosses his arms. “Are you listening, Giovanna? Dating Tommy should not even be a consideration.”
Heat flares in my chest. “Dad, stop. Tommy and I are just friends. Why do you keep obsessing over this?”
It’s true; he is just a friend. A friend I want to ride until he makes me scream his name, a friend who kissed my best friend, a friend who hasn’t texted me in weeks.
“I don’t like him,” my father growls, his voice carrying an edge I rarely hear.
“Noted. Can we talk about literally anything else?” I snap.
What my father doesn’t realize is that if not for Tommy, I’d spend every break curled on my couchstudying. The only thing that can tear me away from school is gorgeous, maddeningly infuriating Tommy Demonio.
Not that my father would notice or care if I disappeared entirely. He loves me in theory, I think, but he spends his time working and cheating on Mom, too busy to pay attention to my existence unless, for some unknown reason, it involves Tommy.
“Giovanna.” His voice sharpens. “Why are you friends with this boy? His whole family are criminals. While it’s occasionally necessary to rub elbows with them professionally, they are not people you involve yourself with personally.”
I swat him away from my suitcase, anger spiking. “Says the man who makes me go to the Demonio New Year’s Eve gala every single year and hangs out with Aurelio Demonio himself.”
“Aurelio Demonio is a business associate,” my father says vehemently. “My investments overlap with some of his. We attend the same events. That’s business.”
I tip my head back with a sigh then go back to packing as my father launches into another tirade about how important for networking the Demonio New Year’s Eve galas are, how the Demonios give Italians a bad name, how we’re so much better than them. The irony is suffocating, given he’s been cheating on my mother all my life.
“Dad, I get it. You hate Tommy.” My patience snaps like a rubber band.
He grabs my arm, forcing me to face him. “I know what he’s capable of. He’s dangerous, Giovanna. Lethal. Do not play this game. You will lose.”
The angry panic on his face is something I’ve never seen. In fact, Irarely see any emotion from him at all—and then it hits me. Women are possessions to him, either treated like saints or fucked like whores. He’s afraid of losing face if his daughter gets fucked by a Demonio.
“Tommy’s not like Aurelio. He’s not an asshole.” Aurelio is a walking nightmare. The stories about him and the women who disappear, including his own wife, make my skin crawl. Tommy isn’t like that. If anything, he’s overprotective to the point of suffocation.
My dad frowns. “Really. What do you call forcing you to put on his hoodie and man-handling you in public? That’s not being an asshole?”
I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “You mean when he noticed I was cold and my dress was riding up when I was drunk? God forbid someone actually look out for me.”
He lifts his eyes to the ceiling like he’s looking for a way out. “I didn’t want to tell you this, Giovanna, but you are forcing my hand. You’re no longer under this roof, and there’s only so much I can do to protect you. You need information to make smart choices.”
I stave off a yawn. This newfound paternal concern is too little, too late.
“Tommy is a killer. He’s murdered at least a dozen people that I know of, which means the real number is probably higher.”
I shake my head. “That’s impossible, Dad. Between DNA, smartphones, GPS, cameras everywhere—no one gets away with serial murder anymore.”
His laugh is bitter, humorless. “Most murders go unsolved, and in Tommy’s case, corrupt cops and judges would stop any investigation long before it reached the Demonios’door.”
I sigh. The truth is, I don’t care if it’s true. I’ve seen Tommy and his brothers get in fights; violence is their language. I know people fear him. I’ve seen more than a few men wilt in his presence and disappear at a word from him. But I feel no shock, no moral outrage. I knew the Demonios were mafia. I just never thought about the details.
When my face doesn’t register the horror he expects, Dad’s expression hardens. “Killing is the kindest thing he does, Giovanna. He tortures men, keeps them alive and suffering for days. Knives are his specialty, and I’ve seen his work. It’s gruesome beyond imagination. He literally carves designs into his victims. The thought of him doing that to you—”
A shiver rips through me. Why does the thought of Tommy using a knife on me make my pussy wet? Crazy, given I’ve barely let anyone touch me, much less with anything close to a knife.
My face must be broadcasting my thoughts, because Dad’s face contorts with disgust. “Don’t be naïve. I understand women like bad boys, but there’s a difference between riding motorcycles and carving people up.”
“Don’t worry about me, Dad. Tommy treats me like a little sister.” As infuriating as that is, it’s true. “I know you hate him, but he would never hurt me.”
Something dangerous flashes in my dad’s eyes. “You know that for a fact?”
