Page 119 of The Ruin I Chose

His voice was calm, which meant he was anything but. The kind of calm that comes before a storm.

“Santino and I have been in touch since after China,” I explained.

“I wanted to know if it was really you. I needed answers.

Found his secret biker boy page on social media, hounded him until he gave me what I needed.”

“How else do you think I kept tabs on her?” Santino said, grinning.

But his eyes flicked to Marcello like he’d crossed a line and knew it.

“You were spying on me? For him?” I pinched his arm.

“And here I thought you were my friend.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed it off. But the thought lingered—quiet, unresolved—because loyalty, once claimed, doesn’t vanish. It just finds new places to rest.

“Ahh… I am.” Santino said easily. “But you’re his girl. That takes precedent.”

I nudged his shoulder playfully.

Marcello’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me towards him.

Vihaan laughed. “You’ve got the Italians wrapped around your finger.”

“Not all,” I said lightly. “Just these two. For now.”

Marcello angled me closer, his hand firm at my hip.

“Amore, you didn’t tell me,” he whispered.

“Well, we reconciled just yesterday,” I said. “I would’ve told you. Eventually.”

His expression didn’t harden, but something in it paused, like a thought he didn’t finish. I stepped on my toes and kissed him. Slow. Intentional. In full view of them all.

His grip tightened just slightly. Message received.

That evening, we dressed for the reception. I wore a burgundy gown that hugged me in all the right places. Marcello and Santino were in tuxes, and I adjusted both their bow ties before we headed out.

Later in the evening, the air seemed different. The music faded. The laughter dulled. Marcello and Santino were deep in a conversation.

Santino’s arrival wasn’t just a surprise. It was a signal. A warning. Like danger was breathing down our necks. Why else would Marcello call him over?

I was grateful to have two strong, capable men protecting my family. But I was scared too. Because Santino’s presence meant Lorenzo was close. And that made my skin crawl. Made the hair on the back of my neck stand. Made me want to hold Kyra tighter. And Marcello closer. I didn’t want to lose what I’d just found.

After dinner, Kyra fell asleep on Marcello’s shoulder.

“I’ll put her to bed,” he said softly.

Later, when I went to check on them, I found him asleep too, curled around Kyra, protective and peaceful.

My heart swelled. I took a picture for keepsake. For proof that softness still existed. My mother opted out of the afterparty, claiming it was for the younger crowd.

She winked at me. “Go be young.”

I changed into a silver sequin dress—fitted, full-sleeved, flared at the ends. The deep cowl neckline left my breasts barely contained—a glittering invitation. The pleats dipped low, just enough to hide my pooch. The back a deep keyhole style—scandalous. I didn’t care. I felt powerful. Still claimed. Still aching. Still his—Marcello’s.

I knocked on Santino’s door. He opened it, shirt half-buttoned, tattoos peeking through. His hair was ruffled. Jaw sharp. His eyes darkened when he saw me. Then he exhaled, slow. Like he was reminding himself who I belonged to.