Page 101 of Ruin
But I don’t. I refuse.
I straighten, forcing my spine rigid against the tremor running through me. My hand twitches up to cradle the sting, but I don’t give Aurelio the satisfaction. I force my chin high, though my pulse pounds so violently it drowns out the music I have playing. I’m terrified, but I will not cower in front of him.
“When my son breaks down your resolve to be apart from him over whatever silly, empty-headed thing you are angry about—and he will, because he is like me and refuses to let go of what he wants—you will tell him it is over. You will make it convincing. If you don’t…” He leans close, his breath heavy with wine. “Your parents will pay the price.”
My parents? Anything that happens to them, I’m sure they’ve got coming. For getting into bed with Aurelio Demonio in the first place, if nothing else.
I laugh. I don’t mean to—it bubbles up, sharp and defiant, despite the terror I’m feeling. “I’ve never been able to get Tommy to stop doing anything he wants to do. You’ll have to take this up with him.”
I’m proud of how steady my voice comes out, but my heart is thundering so hard I can feel it against the burn in my cheek. For one fleeting second, I think maybe I’ve won—maybe he’ll leave, maybe this will be over.
But Aurelio only tilts his head, that scar pulling tighter as he smirks. “It is not surprising to me that you are no more capable than your dickless father. Rest assured, I will handle my son. But if you cannot make him leave, then perhaps you will leave. Go to grad school, travel to Europe—whatever rich, entitledputtanelike you do. Make yourself disappear.”
My jaw tightens. I want to scream at him, shove him. But I stand still, knuckles white at my sides.
His voice drops lower, almost calm as he moves closer to me. “If not, I will consider other uses for you. And I promise you,ragazza, they do not include my son’s dick inside you. But perhaps all of my men, as often as they want. Maybe in front of your father. Maybe in front of Tommaso.”
The words slam into me harder than his hand did. Mystomach knots, but I’m surprised to hear myself let out a sharp, brittle laugh. “You think threats work on me? You don’t know me very well.” It sounds thin even to me, and I wish I hadn’t said it.
He leans in closer, his cologne, woody and overpowering. His voice is rocky. “If you think I will not kill my own child to get what I want, you do not understand who I am,puttana. You cannot be with Tommaso. It cannot happen. It is a violation of God’s law. And I will kill one or both of you before I allow this to go any further.”
The air leaves my lungs. Aurelio Demonio is not bluffing. He isn’t a man who makes idle threats. He’s a man who cuts throats, buries bodies, and calls it family business. I absolutely believe he would kill his own son. My Tommy. While I’m willing to risk my own life and even that of my parents, risking Tommy’s life is not something I’m willing to do.
In a split second, all my fire dissolves into ash. I can still feel Tommy’s laughter, the way he’d curl around me in sleep, the tenderness he didn’t let anyone else see. I wanted—stupidly, I guess—to believe we had time, that there was hope for us in the future. That he’d make changes, come back to me, that I could be more patient as we found our way through the wreckage.
I love Tommy. I miss him so badly it’s a wound that won’t close. But Aurelio’s words cling like smoke in my lungs.
I’ll do anything to protect Tommy.
When Aurelio shoves me, I stumble backward, crashing into the couch, bruising my thigh. He stands over me, leering as I try to focus through the pain. “And one more thing,ragazza. You are not to tell Tommaso any of this. Our littlesecret, yes?”
He doesn’t look back as he strides out, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the fairy lights above.
I lie there, cheek burning, leg throbbing, heart thundering, unable to move.
I love Tommy Demonio. And because I love him, I have to let him go.
43
Tommy
I’m sitting on her couch in the dark in her Bleeker Street apartment when she walks in. Little sundress, sandals, her hair in a ponytail. I’ve been waiting for her here since she left this morning.
My intention was to have a conversation, find out why she hasn’t responded to my texts and calls, hear what she’s thinking about us and our future, find out if we’re done with this break yet.
But the second I see the split on her lip, the faint purple bruise on her thigh, something inside me snaps. My hands shake as I reach for her. I don’t even ask. I pull her into me, crushing her against my chest like I can shield her from whatever’s already been done.
For a moment, she melts. Her face presses into my shirt, her body soft against mine, like she’s been waiting for me to do this the whole time. Relief claws through me so hard it almost knocks me over, and I grip her tightly. A choked sob escapes her, and I bury my face in her neck.
Then she smacks me across the face.
I don’t let go. I can’t. I hold her tighter, because I know that she’s just angry, that she needs me as much as I need her. She’s hitting me again, fists pounding against my chest, wild and desperate, and still I won’t let her go. My arms are like iron.
“Stop it,” I murmur against her hair as she sobs. “Stop fighting me, Gi. You’re safe.”
She breaks free with a violent shove and the scream that rips out of her, sharp and raw, cuts me in half. “You have to get out of here! Leave me alone!”
“Gi, we can’t do this anymore. I can’t go another day without talking to you—”
