Page 120 of Ruined
“The layout’s good. Just do what you need to do.”
He nodded. “Understood. I’ll get the revisions finalized.” He packed up his blueprints, gave a curt nod, and left the office.
I stood and grabbed my jacket, desperate for air.
The hallway stretched ahead, the steady hum of casino activity filtering through the walls. As I rounded a corner, I caught sight of Frank.
He walked toward me, his nose still swollen and tinged with bruises from Luca’s fist. Frank froze, his eyes flicking away. Then he turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction.
I stopped, watching him retreat.
Since Luca beat the hell out of Frank, he’d completely stopped flirting with me. Before that, he’d been a pain in the ass. Sometimes he showed up uninvited to dinners or late nights at the casino. Luca put an end to it with one swing.
I headed toward the elevator.
Would I ever stop missing Luca?
The elevator crawled upward. By the time the doors slid open, my chest tightened like a vise.
Cool night air hit my face as I stepped into the parking lot. Only a few cars dotted the space, their shapes cast in the flickering glow of overhead lights. My footsteps echoed against the asphalt.
I reached into my pocket for my keys, and a prickle of awareness stopped me.
My body went rigid. I tightened my grip on the key fob, scanning the shadows between parked cars.
A figure burst from the darkness and slammed into me. I stumbled, twisting to avoid the blade. Two more shapes emerged, their footsteps rapid, closing the distance.
The first man lunged. I ducked low, driving a fist into his gut before spinning to face the second attacker. Pain flared in my ribs as the third man’s kick sent me crashing into a parked car.
The world tilted. Blood filled my mouth, yanking me back into focus. I swung wildly, my knuckles connecting with one of their jaws. He staggered back, cursing in a foreign language. Russian? The others surged forward.
Blows rained down, fists slamming into my ribs and shoulders. I grunted, straining to stay on my feet. My hand scrambled for the gun at my waist, but another hit knocked it free, the weapon clattering uselessly on the ground.
One grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back, forcing a sharp jolt of pain through my shoulder. Another shoved me face-first into the hood of a car, metal biting into my cheek.
“Bastards,” I snarled.
“Dominic Caruso,” another sneered. “Your brothers send their regards.”
A cloth smothered my mouth and nose, reeking of chemicals. I thrashed, my heart hammering in panic, but my strength drained with every gasping breath.
The last thing I saw was the open van door, its interior yawning dark and waiting, before the world slipped away.
I snapped awake.
My head throbbed, every pulse of pain dragging me to reality. I blinked at the concrete walls. I was in a basement, slumped in a chair.
Across the room, a hard-eyed bald man with Cyrillic tattoos glared at me. Bratva. Beside him were my two brothers, Angelo and Enzo.
“Look who’s awake,” Angelo sneered.
I held his gaze. “This is a new low, even for you two.”
Enzo smirked. “You didn’t think we’d let you take everything, did you, Dom?”
I forced a laugh. “You mean what you didn’t earn?”
“Your brothers were smart to come to us,” said the Bratva thug. “We get what we want, they get what they want. Everyone wins.”