Page 119 of Ruined
“Give me five.”
I stayed seated, phone gripped in my hand. It’d been three weeks since I’d walked out of Luca’s life, and every second felt like a slow descent into hell. I’d buried myself in work—new casino expansions, back-to-back meetings, pointless security drills—anything to keep me moving.
I’d reassigned Luca to a different property. Distance was supposed to help keep Luca out of trouble and me out of his own head. Every time I closed my eyes, that flicker of panic when he grabbed my jacket and said“Don’t do this.”
It haunted me.
I pushed back from my desk, pacing the office. I couldn’t think straight.
I’d done the right thing.
He was spiraling. The fight with Frank. His short fuse. Luca couldn’t handle his emotions, and I was making it worse. He needed to figure his shit out, and I needed to be strong enough to step away.
But I missed him.
His stupid smirks. His sharp comebacks. The way he softened, just for me. I missed the sound of his voice. I missed watchinghim flip through textbooks. I missed his grumpy greetings in the morning.
I sank back into my chair, staring at the app I’d meant to delete weeks ago. My thumb hovered before I tapped it open, revealing the GPS tracker I’d planted on Luca’s car before we broke up.
The blinking dot remained in the parking lot outside his apartment. The tightness in my chest loosened slightly.
What if I was wrong?
What if walking away had shattered him? What if my leaving only proved every terrible thing he thought about himself?
I got up from my chair, pacing the length of my office. The contractor would walk in any second, and I needed to pull it together. My phone buzzed again, and another text filled the screen.
Luca
Dom, please.
The door opened, and my bodyguard stepped in. His sharp eyes flicked to my phone. “You’re distracted.”
“No shit.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You want to tell me what’s going on, or should I let the contractor figure it out when you bite his head off?”
I sighed. “Just send him in.”
He gave me a look but left.
I sank back into my chair, staring at the phone. Weeks of silence, and he still hadn’t given up. Part of me admired it. The other part wanted to throw the damn thing out the window.
My phone buzzed again. I ignored it. If I opened another message from Luca today, I’d break.
You’re killing me, Luca.
The contractor entered the office, a wiry man in his forties with a clipboard and a determined look. His name was Vince, and he didn’t bother with small talk. Fine by me.
“Mr. Caruso.” Vince laid out blueprints on the desk. “We’ve got the updated plans for the casino expansion. Some of the structural reinforcements need tweaking, but it won’t push the timeline too far.”
I forced myself to focus, nodding as Vince pointed out load-bearing walls and fire exits. My brain registered the details, but the conversation felt like static in the background.
“…if we adjust the mezzanine layout,” Vince was saying, “it’ll open up more space for high-roller suites. Should bring in an extra ten percent revenue on comps alone.”
“Fine.”
Vince hesitated. “Is there an issue?”