Page 122 of Ruin
“You weren’t lifeless for Tommy,” he growls. “You chose me to fuck with because I look like him, so take that next step in your twisted fucking head and pretend I’m him.”
For a second, I’m too stunned to fight. His hands roam over me, rough, demanding, but I’m rigid, resistant. Then something sparks deep inside me, something white-hot, something primal.
I grab the nearest thing, my wine glass still half full, and smash it against his forehead. The glass shards cut into me as much as him, as he reels back with a snarl. My chest heaves, nails broken, my hand throbbing.
He swipes at the blood and wine on his face. “Now you’re fucking awake. Is this what you do with Tommy? Beat the shit out of each other when you fuck?”
He goes low, grabbing my hips, pushing his head into my chest and trapping me against the kitchen island as he yanks at my shorts, tearing the fabric.
I hit him, scratch his cheeks, the back of his neck and shoulders, leaving bloody claw marks on his face and chest.
Shoving me off him, I slam into the counter as Antonio straightens, his eyes dark. Both of our breathing comes in ragged gasps as we stare at each other, each waiting for the other to attack.
He touches the cuts on his neck and chest, thenstares at the blood on his fingers like he doesn’t believe it’s real. Slowly, his gaze drags up to mine. His eyes are molten rage, but underneath it, there is something else, something like acceptance.
“Leave me if you want,” he says, his voice gravel. “I have to be here. This is my job. If you want out, get the fuck out. But if you stay, Giovanna, then fucking be here. Don’t be a ghost in your own God damn life.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and spit blood on the floor. “As far as Aurelio and my father are concerned, you and I are together. But if you ever touch me again, Antonio?” I step in close, my voice as steady as steel even though my insides quake. “I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
55
Tommy
Luminous & Co reeks of money. Polished marble floors, glass chandeliers dripping light like liquid, and music soft enough that you forget you’re standing in a mafia front where every dollar has been scrubbed clean.
I hate this place.
I haven’t been back here since I bought the ring for Giovanna and got jumped by Lorenzo’s men. There are armed guards here again today, and again Berto Abbiati is one of them. He smirks at me, but I don’t acknowledge him or anyone else.
Vin walks in behind me, Matti to my left, carrying an empty duffle bag. Both of them are silent, watchful, while Lorenzo stands behind the display cases, bitter, grimacing, like a diplomat forced to receive emissaries from an enemy country. His hair is slicked back, his jaw tight. He doesn’t like this demonstration of the fact that he works for us. For me.
Good.
I smile, polite, calm, smooth as ice. “Lorenzo.”
His mouth twitches. Oddly, he seems to hate the courtesy most of all, which is the only thing I like about it.
Antonio joins Lorenzo behind the counter late, adjusting his cuffs. His face catches the light, and I do a double take. Thin red scratches curve down his cheek, a welt blooms along his neck, and there’s a healing cut just below his hairline.
I pause. Every nerve in my body stills. I know those marks. She used to leave them on me all the time.
So that’s it. Giovanna’s finally letting him in.
Heat coils sharp in my chest, rage and grief and something worse. But my smile stays in place as I drawl, “Looks like someone’s keeping you busy, Antonio. Those scratches suit you.”
He scowls, but when he reads the jealousy that must be showing in my eyes, he smirks, smug and satisfied. “What can I say? She’s… spirited.”
Berto snorts under his breath, but I don’t laugh. My jaw tightens. Giovanna’s nails, Giovanna’s scars. My lessons. Her bed. With him.
Lorenzo stiffens, and Matti shifts like he’s ready for me to explode, but I don’t. This is the gift I gave her at the New Year’s Eve party when I taught him how to fuck her. This is what I wanted, right?
Lorenzo pushes the cash toward us. His voice is a hiss. “Here. Now go.”
I ignore the money. My gaze stays on Antonio, burning holes into him. I almost want him to say it outright, to brag about how he fucks her, to tell me she moans his name the way she used to moan mine. Just so I’ll have reason enough tocarve into him and spill his blood all over Lorenzo’s polished marble floor.
But he doesn’t. He just smiles that vague smile, content to let me guess the details.
My pulse gets slower, not faster. Cold creeps in like winter as I finger the knife in my pocket. Maybe I’ll just gut him, anyway. If I can’t fuck her, making him bleed will do.
