Page 116 of Ruin

He murmurs my name soft and low, and I squint my eyes shut, willing the tears to evaporate. But they don’t. As Ithread my fingers into his hair and he kisses my neck then my breasts, I can’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. The only thing hot and wet on me other than him.

When he slows down, kisses me softly, positioning his cock at my entrance, then murmurs, “My girl…” against my lips, I panic.

Slamming my hands against his chest, I release a choked cry, and he pulls back, chest heaving, searching my face.

“Please, I’m not ready— I can’t—”

I gulp back a sob, and my throat aches with the effort of holding it in. I bite my bottom lip as frustration and disappointment swirl over Antonio’s face. He drops his forehead down to my chest and takes a deep breath, before lifting his head again to face me.

Roughly, he brushes the tears off my cheek, but they keep coming. He looks like he’s trying to figure out a way to fix this but can’t. His voice is hard when he finally speaks.

“I’m not going to fuck you when you’re crying over another man. I’ve waited for you this long, I can wait a little longer. But I won’t wait forever, Giovanna. You will be my wife one day, and when that day comes, I never want to hear his fucking name again. Until then, let me know when you’re ready to finally forget him.”

When he leaves the room, grabbing his clothes on the way out and slamming the door, I yank the blankets up to my chin and roll on my side, sobbing.

How can I forget Tommy? He is carved into me—into my skin, into my soul. There just isn’t room for anyone else.

52

Tommy: New Year’s Eve, 5 Years Ago

The lobby of Dragovari Tower hums with the annual New Year’s Eve gala: champagne chatter, the scrape of silverware, a string quartet swelling in the background. Councilman Donovan is chatting with my date, who is talking about her charity work, but I can’t hear a word.

Because I feel her, that prickling under my skin, that sixth sense that never fails me when it comes to her. My Gi.

My eyes lock on Antonio Abbiati. Tony the Motherfucking Hack to me even though no one else calls him that anymore. If he’s here, she’s here, but he’s in a circle of men and she’s nowhere around.

My pulse spikes as I feel her watching me before I see her. When I scan the crowd, my gaze slams into hers, my chest tightens, and it feels like the room goes silent.

She’s staring at me from across the ballroom, and Christ, her eyes… I can read everything in them. I swear I’m not imagining it. Ache. Hunger. Anguish. That sharp edge of longing that she’s trying like hell to bury but can’t.

My throat works, dry, and the woman on my arm squeezes my hand. Donovan notices and pauses mid-sentence when he follows my gaze.

“Ah,” the councilman chuckles. “Giovanna Marino. You’d like an introduction?”

I can’t even form words. I look at him, dumbfounded. He’s met my girl. But he doesn’t recognize her? Or does he, and he’s giving me an out?

He grins like he’s doing me a favor, ignoring the way my date stiffens, and he ushers us forward. My pulse roars in my ears. When we reach her, Donovan’s sharp enough to catch the pull between me and Gi after he makes the introduction, and clears his throat.

Donovan turns to my date. “My dear, I happen to know some lovely people over here who I know would love to hear more about what you’re doing at your charity. Come with me.”

When we’re left alone, Giovanna is shaking, but she doesn’t speak, and I can’t take it. I grab her arm and drag her down a hall into a dining room full of tables set with full place settings, bread baskets, and decanters of olive oil next to the salt and pepper and wait staff putting on the final touches.

“Leave,” I bark, and they scatter.

I wait for her to speak. Tears spill down her cheeks, and she licks her bottom lip.

“Tommy…” Her voice cracks.

That’s all it takes.

I fold around her, holding her tight as if I could fuse her to me. My hands roam over her body, desperate, starving, as I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, groaning against her skin.

“Does this mean you’re coming home, sweet girl?” My voice shreds. “Everything’s like you left it. Waiting for you. Are you coming home to me?”

She gives a small anguished cry, and I push her back enough that I can see her face. Immediately, my hope splinters. She’s not coming back to me. She’s not coming home.

“You’re still with him, aren’t you? Fuck.” My grip on her tightens, and my voice sharpens. “So why are you here? What do you want?”