Page 81 of Ruin

“It’s my girlfriend’s birthday,” I say, scanning the cases. “Iwant to get her something special. Maybe a ring.”

The girl blanches. “You’re getting her a ring?”

“Why? Is that wrong?”

“An… engagement ring?” She whispers the words like they might detonate between us.

“Maybe.” I shrug.

Her eyes widen, incredulous. “Have you asked her what kind of ring she wants?”

“Why would I? Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters.” Her voice shakes. “This isn’t a sweater. Women want to choose their engagement rings. Maybe you should bring her in. We do custom designs, so she can have literally anything she wants.”

“I’ll bring her later. For now, I need something I can put on her finger.”

She blinks. “A placeholder ring?”

“Sure. And one for me, too.”

She fully gapes at me. “You want…an engagement ring for yourself?”

I clench my jaw. So many fucking rules that everyone seems to know but me. “Why? Is that wrong too?”

“It’s not traditional. Most men wait for wedding bands.”

“I already have a wedding band.” Giovanna keeps mine on a chain around her neck.

The woman stares at me like I’m speaking another language. “Usually it matches her band and her ring. She might want to choose that, too.”

“Jesus Christ.” I mutter, stabbing a finger at a massive square-cut diamond glittering under the lights. “That one’s fine. Nothing wrong with that choice, right?”

“What’s her ring size?” She pulls the ring out and hands itto me. Not sure what I’m supposed to do with it, I glance at it and hand it back.

“I don’t know. Just wrap this one up.”

“This is a $530,000 ring, sir,” she says flatly, staring at me haughtily. “We can size it later, but if she doesn’t like it, we don’t do returns.”

I stare back at her. “Understood.”

“You could choose something… simpler. Something more—”

“Ring it up.” My voice cuts like glass. I slap my card on the counter. “Now.”

Her lips press tight, clearly unhappy with pretty much every choice I’m making. She takes the card and the ring and heads to the register, leaving me in the hum of silence.

That’s when I feel a shift.

The air changes, thickens. Three guards peel away from the walls, their shadows cut across the floor as they fan out behind me.

“Don’t,” I warn, voice low, my reflection in the glass hard-eyed.

They don’t listen.

The first one lunges for my arm. I twist, drive my elbow back into his ribs, and hear the air rush out of him.

The second swings, but I’m already ducking, already sweeping his legs out from under him. He crashes against a display case, glass shattering, diamonds raining like broken stars. An alarm goes off, an ear-splitting, pulsing wail.