Page 83 of The Ruin I Chose

It felt like the universe had finally said: enough.

And then—

Everything went blank.

No sound. No pain.

Just peace.

CHAPTER 33

MARCELLO

I hadn’t slept in days.

Sleep had become a luxury I couldn’t afford—not when Lorenzo was still breathing, still scheming, still slipping through cracks I hadn’t sealed.

Isabella was easy. All it took was a doctored image, a whisper in the right ear, and a little graphic manipulation. That was enough to rattle her. For someone who spent years scheming to get into my pants, trying every dirty trick up her sleeve, she was surprisingly easy to manipulate.

I planted the seed of doubt, and she watered it with paranoia.

Fear fed by misinformation is a fragile thing. And hers cracked fast. She believed Giorgio—Lorenzo’s most loyal dog—had betrayed them. That part was easy.

Martin, an ex-mercenary, made Giorgio vanish like it was just another day. The bastard had a weakness—and Martin exploited it. Isabella lapped up the lie like Lorenzo’s loyal mutt—fed straight from my hand of deceit.

But I didn’t expect Lorenzo to leave her behind. He didn’t even flinch. Five years together, and he left her to rot. I didn’t expect him to cut her loose so fast. But maybe she was always disposable—like she was nothing. Maybe that’s all she ever was to him—another body in his bed. Another name on his list.

The prison was buried in the Swiss Alps—off-grid, off-record. No village nearby. No animals. No life. Just stone, snow, and silence.

Two checkpoints guarded the mountain—one at the base, one at the peak. Each car had forty minutes to reach the next post. Miss the window, and they send in the cavalry.

I walked in with clearance from old friends. It helped—knowing the right people, in the right ranks, in the right corners of the world. Perks of supplying arms to governments all across the globe. Martin stayed close, surrendered his Glock at security, and clipped on a visitor tag.

I saw her through the glass, seated with handcuffs on, in the waiting area, with a security guard standing a few feet away.

She looked pale without layers of makeup. Her hair was a tangled mess. She was a far cry from the plastic beauty people once admired. In her raw state, she was despicable, almost ugly. Not because of her face. But because of what she’d done with it.

The bruise blooming at the corner of her mouth was a giveaway—she’d picked a fight, no doubt. She stood up in anticipation as I opened the door.

But as she laid her eyes on me, she slumped back in her chair, almost disappointed. Maybe she was hoping for it to be Lorenzo, but I knew that bastard all too well. Once someone was a liability, they were as good as dead.

“Look who’s here. Welcome to my humble abode,” Isabella said, gesturing around with mock grandeur.

I sat opposite her.

“You can take off the cuffs,” I spoke to the guard.

“Oh, how chivalrous. But I thought you’d like me in these,” she raised her hands above her head, pouting, as the guard unlocked the cuffs.

Her shirt rode up, exposing a sliver of pale skin.

“You know,” she said, leaning in, “we can ask them to leave us for a bit if you want some private time with me. I promise I won’t bite.”

My face remained inexpressive.

“I need his location. His business. Where he is now.” My voice was flat. Mechanical.

“Now, now, do you think I’ll rat him out?” she said, leaning back in her chair.