Page 64 of The Ruin I Chose

The informant was gone. But the threat against Roxanne was far from it. I still had to keep distance. Lorenzo would stop at nothing until he got control of my port and my business. And right now, she was my vulnerability. Again.

The woman I pushed away to protect. The woman I’d kill for. The woman I couldn’t stop feeling for—even if it destroyed us both. And I was already halfway gone.

CHAPTER 26

MARCELLO

I lay on the bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

My body was still, but everything inside me screamed.

The sheets had long lost her warmth, but the scent lingered—faint, like a ghost refusing to leave. I turned into the pillow, breathing her in. It wasn’t enough.

Her voice echoed in my head from the last night we shared this room.

I’ll miss you.

And then I remembered how miserable she sounded when she came to say goodbye.

Thank you for the necklace. But I can’t accept something that reminds me I cheated. That I’m a liar—the villain in your story.

I hadn’t looked at her. Not because I was angry—but because I couldn’t let her see the wreckage in my eyes.

I was fighting the urge to hold her, to kiss her, to scream at her for hiding the truth. I was furious. And the words I’d thrown at her—cheater, liar—came back to bite me, searing through my chest like a scalding rod.

I reached into my trouser pocket for the scarf she’d forgotten to take. It still carried her scent—stronger than the bed. I pressed it to my face and inhaled. Her scent hit me like a memory I wasn’t ready for. Something inside me buckled like my chest was trying to fold in on itself.

It wasn’t calm. It was collapse. I clung to it like a man drowning. This was the closest I’d felt to breathing since she left.

A wave of calm washed over me. I imagined her fingers in my hair, my head in her lap, her touch soft and forgiving. Her smile. Her kisses. And with that thought, I drifted off.

The sound of a vacuum outside the door jolted me awake. Light filtered through the curtains. I’d slept through the night, for the first time in months.

Antonio was already in the villa. I called Cheung and his son back for the meeting. They wanted me to deliver the goods personally—not just for business, but for history.

Cheung had been my father’s friend. They shared deep mutual respect. I’d trained under him in Guangzhou for a year, learning the ways of the triads, understanding their codes. He was part of a syndicate that dealt in counterfeit goods, currency, and art. They bought arms through me.

They ran brothels across Guangdong Province—servicing politicians and tycoons, discreetly. He had dirt on them, and they were willing to pay to keep it buried.

They wanted me in China next week. To meet someone. A collaborator. Someone who could help me get to Lorenzo. I said yes immediately.

As they left my office, I sat back in my chair.

Antonio turned to me, stepping closer, arms folded.

“You sure about this? I could’ve gone with Santino or Martin. You’re not in the right headspace.”

I lit a cigarette, took a long drag.

“Don’t tell me how to run my business, Antonio.”

My voice was sharp, but my hands trembled. I hated how raw my voice sounded. I wasn’t just defending my choices. I was defending the wreckage I’d become.

Antonio didn’t flinch. “I’m telling you as family.”

I exhaled, smoke curling between us.

“I need to go.” My voice dropped. “I have to.”