Page 89 of Reaper & Ruin
And we were going to get ourselves out of here before Danika changed her mind. I’d grown bored with her games.
Chapter Twenty Nine, Complications
The bed creaked softly as I flopped onto it, staring up at the ceiling. The cracks in the plaster formed jagged little patterns, and I traced them with my eyes. Anything to keep my mind occupied from the boredom as we waited for Danika to finish debating her options for the next round of whatever bullshit game she wanted to play.
Atlas paced relentlessly by the window; the soft rhythm of his footsteps grated on my nerves. He didn’t stop, not even when the old floorboards beneath his boots groaned in protest. His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight, his every movement a barely restrained coil of energy.
I envied him. At least pacing gave him something to do.
“I don’t know how you’re not driving yourself insane by lying there,” he muttered without looking at me, his voice sharp as broken glass.
“I’m Italian,” I replied, tone dry. “We’ve mastered the art of lying around, looking good, and waiting for the world to implode around us.”
He glanced over, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. Then he turned back to the window, his fingers flexing at his sides.
I stayed where I was, staring at the ceiling, letting the silence stretch. Being bored was better than being worried. Better than letting my thoughts go to places they shouldn’t. But lying there motionless meant my brain had room to wander, anyway.
My father’s face floated into my mind, hard and cold as the marble statues he admired so much that sat in the De Luca mansion’s hallway. I clenched my jaw, the ceiling cracks blurring as anger burned through me.
I should have killed him years ago.
It was a thought that had been circling in my head since the day I’d found out he’d had Missy killed. Probably since the day Heather broke down, shaking and screaming and filled with so much pain that I swore I’d do anything to stop it. I should’ve been the one to put a bullet between his eyes and end it all.
But I hadn’t.
Because I was a coward.
I hated that part of me, the one that let him loom over my life like a storm cloud, his shadow touching everything I cared about. He was a tyrant, a bully, a man so obsessed with power that he didn’t care who he hurt to keep it.
And yet, he was still my father.
The ceiling cracked in my vision, a jagged fissure splitting the white plaster into fragments, like my thoughts.
“You’re quiet,” Atlas said, breaking the silence.
I blinked, focusing on his voice. He’d stopped pacing and was now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on me.
“Thinking,” I muttered, shifting to prop myself up on my elbows.
“Dangerous for you,” he replied.
“Ha,” I deadpanned, but the corner of my mouth twitched upward.
Atlas tilted his head, studying me. “Thinking about what?”
I hesitated before answering. “My father.”
Atlas let out a low hum, his eyes narrowing slightly. “He’ll pay for everything, Gio. You know that, right? I can’t keep trying to ruin his life. I’m going to kill him.”
“I know,” I said quietly, but the weight in my chest didn’t lift. “I should have let you kill him right away. This is all my fault—perhaps I am a coward. Or perhaps a part of me still… still thinks he was my father. And I didn’t want to be the sort of man who murdered his father.”
The room fell silent again, save for the faint creak of the bed as I shifted onto my back once more. The ceiling hadn’t changed, still fractured and broken, a reflection of everything I felt inside.
I really should have killed him. Years ago. Before Missy. Before Heather. Before any of this.
But I hadn’t. And now, we were here, locked in this room, waiting for Danika to decide whether we lived or died.
The bed creaked again as Atlas came over and sat on the edge, his presence grounding me slightly. He didn’t say anything, just sat there, his hand resting near mine on the mattress.
