Page 121 of The Ruin I Chose

CHAPTER 45

ROXANNE

The party was loud. Sahil, Priya, Vihaan, Santino, and I took shots. I introduced Santino to everyone. Ritu had flown in from Singapore that evening, apologising for missing the wedding.

Her hug lingered. Her eyes scanned the room for Marcello. I told her he had fallen asleep putting Kyra to bed. Her eyes slid past me—then stopped. On Santino. Lingering a second too long. Then she smiled like she’d clocked something interesting.

“So,” she said lightly, eyes still on Santino, “how does one even begin to choose between that and Marcello?”

“Who says I had to choose?” The music pulsed. So did my ego.

I leaned into Santino, laughing—my hand grazing his chest. His hand found the small of my back. Warm. Steady. I was laughing a little too loud—the kind of loud that hides nerves—that pretends nothing is slipping.

He pulled me in just enough to remind me he was there. Just enough to make me notice. His skin was warm, but his gaze sharpened—predatory, assessing. He took a large sip of his whiskey and gulped it down. His throat flexed and my pulse did too.

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” Santino said, voice low. “And get me in trouble too.”

“Hope it’s worth it,” I winked.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

“Oh, it would be,” he said. “But I don’t think either of us is drunk enough for that mistake.”

His smile faltered just for a second and that was everything. His gaze deepened like he could visualise the mistake he spoke of. My skin tingled.

God, he was hot. Ridiculously so. And I didn’t know how I’d missed it.

But it wasn’t just the alcohol talking. And it wasn’t just the music. The tension between us wasn’t accidental. It was deliberate. The kind that waits. The kind that watches. The kind that doesn’t need permission to exist.

Ritu pulled me onto the dance floor. We danced dirty, provocatively. Our hands on each other’s hips, dancing wild, reckless, too close for common sense. We laughed, bodies moving with the beat.

Santino waited a beat, then slid himself behind me, hands loose at my hips. His breath brushed my neck. His chest hovered near my back. I rolled my hips once—slow, deliberate. I moved without thinking. That was the problem.

He didn’t push me away. Instead, he gripped my waist firmly, pulling me closer.

“Couldn’t resist?” I murmured—half-teasing, half-breathless.

What was I doing?

His lips brushed my ear. “You keep testing me, Volpi.”

The way he said it—low, rough, like a warning—made my stomach flip.

“I’m holding on by a thread,” he said. His hand tightened around my hips, grounding me flush against his chest. “If it snaps…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Whatever lived beneath his calm was straining hard against it. My breath caught. I leaned into him just for a second and felt him—solid, restrained. His breath heavy.

A thought: This was going too far.

Then he pushed off me. Ritu pulled me in, laughing, her arms around my waist as we screamed lyrics into the air. The music throbbed. My body moved without thought. But there was a noise inside me I couldn’t mute.

I saw Santino retreat into the corner, drink in hand, eyes locked on me. He didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just watched—like he was holding back something that wanted to break free. Like he’d already made a decision and was paying for it.

I let myself ignore it—because ignoring was easier than naming. Not because I didn’t feel it. But because I knew who I belonged to.

The air suddenly shifted before I felt him—a hand on my waist. Gripping me tight. I didn’t brush it off. My body knew too well who it was.

Marcello.