Page 37 of The Ruin I Chose

I gripped Santino’s shoulders, ready, wide-eyed, as he reached for the ignition. His shoulders were solid under my hands—warm, steady.

“Stop,” Marcello barked, voice sharp as steel.

Santino froze. I looked at Marcello with disappointment and narrowed my eyes.

“That’s a death machine,” he said, striding towards us.

“I like danger,” I said, voice teasing, eyes daring.

He turned to Santino. “Off the bike. Helmet. Jacket. And get her one too.”

God, the authority in his voice. It shouldn’t have thrilled me—but it did. Santino obeyed. As he handed me the helmet, his fingers brushed mine. For a heartbeat, something primal flickered between them—territorial, male. He leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only me to hear.

“If you ever want a ride without rules… I’m around.” He winked, then stepped back.

My pulse throbbed deep and dangerous, betraying me. Marcello slipped into the leather jacket over his linen shirt—the weight familiar, grounding. He strapped on his helmet, then turned to me, adjusting mine with deliberate care. I watched him—lips parted, eyes wide, breath caught somewhere between thrill and surrender.

He looked like sin wrapped in leather. And I was ready to be ruined again. His fingers brushed my jaw, slow and deliberate.

And just like that, the storm inside me settled—only momentarily, yet enough to cling to. He didn’t ask for permission. He never did. And maybe that’s why I kept giving it.

I wanted him to kiss me right there—on the mouth, on the neck, anywhere. I wanted him to take me apart again, piece by piece.

“Ride the danger with me, bella.”

My heart fluttered, and he saw it in the way my lashes dipped, the way my lip curled under my teeth. I smiled, climbed on behind him, and wrapped my arms around his waist.

I glanced over my shoulder. Santino was still watching me—arms crossed, mouth curved in that lazy, knowing smirk.

I blew him a slow, teasing kiss and gave a little wave. His grin widened, but he didn’t say a word—like he was ready to play the game.

“Hold tight,” Marcello said.

I did—arms around him, body flush against his back. My chest pressed to his back, arms wrapped tight, feeling every shift of muscle beneath his shirt.

He roared the beast to life, and we vanished into the dusk. Every bump in the road sent a jolt through me, reminding me of how close we were, how far we’d gone, and how easy it would be to fall again.

The engine roared beneath us, every vibration sparking something I wasn’t ready to name.

CHAPTER 16

MARCELLO

The Ducati roared through the Sicilian dusk. Stone arches blurred past. The wind tangled her hair. Her laughter—soft, breathless—spilled against my neck. It hit me harder than it should’ve—like I’d been starving for the sound.

It wasn’t joy, it was release. Like something inside her had snapped free. And I wanted to feel that fire with her.

As we approached Licata, the town rose in soft pastel tones. Terracotta roofs. Narrow alleys. The scent of espresso and sea salt. I slowed, my hand left the throttle and settling on her thigh. Warm. Bare. I didn’t just caress—I tested. How far she’d let me go. How much she still trusted me. How much she’d let me take. Not like a boy discovering fire, but like a man who’s learned how to read what a woman allows, and what she secretly craves.

She lifted her visor, leaned forward and kissed my shoulder—right over the leather. A soft press of lips. A silent thank you. Or maybe a dare. Either way, it lit something in me I couldn’t shake.

I didn’t speak. Just sped again, faster this time, making her yelp and grab me tighter. The town faded behind us as the road opened up.

Her hands wandered down to my thigh, rubbing slowly. I didn’t stop her. I wanted her to feel what she did to me. What she had been doing. Even when she was silent.

We reached an overlook. The sea stretched below—wild, infinite. I parked. The engine ticked as it cooled. She didn’t move. Neither did I.

She still clung to me, her chest pressed to my back, her laugh trembling—made me aware of the fragility she hid beneath her fire. I wanted to break her open, but gently. Or as gently as someone who’s carried losses heavier than lust could manage.