Page 147 of Ruined

“Yeah. I’m good.”

I let out a slow breath, my hands steady.

Honestly, getting pushed out of the mafia was the best thing that could’ve happened to me. I’d spent so long trying to prove I deserved a place in the family that I didn’t realize how much the pressure had suffocated me. I wasn’t a weapon anymore, just a guy with nothing to prove except that he could build a life worth living.

College, maybe. A future that didn’t involve blood on my hands.

For now, though?

I crimped another pelmeni and smiled.

I was exactly where I needed to be.

THIRTY-SIX

LUCA

ONE YEAR LATER

The late afternoon sun hung low over Bourton University, turning everything golden. I walked across campus, the air buzzing with laughter, chatter, and music from the lawn.

I couldn’t believe I was reallyhere.

Not just at an Ivy League school, but living a life that’d always seemed out of reach. Alessio Salvatore, a friend of the family, pulled some strings to get me in, but the real miracle was being able to walk across a college campus like a normal person.

My mind still dwelled on things I never got to do. All those little moments most people took for granted. I wanted to live those now—the harmless pranks, making out under bleachers.

Therapy had been the first step. Well, therapy and Dominic. He’d been there, his presence reminding me that I didn’t have to carry the weight of my past alone.

The list was my therapist’s idea:“Write down the things you want to experience. Big or small, it doesn’t matter. Just start thinking about the life you want to build.”At first, it had feltridiculous. But over time, the list grew, each item rebelling against everything the Bratva had taken from me.

I wanted to learn how to cook something other than Russian food. I wanted to run a 5K. I wanted to laugh so hard my stomach hurt. I wanted to go on a skiing trip.

And then there were the tattoos.

The Bratva had carved their mark into my skin, their ink a constant reminder of the life I’d been forced into. The decision to laser them off had been harder than I thought. Each session was a mix of physical pain and emotional release, the smell of burnt skin strangely cathartic. With every faint scar left behind, I reclaimed another piece of myself.

“Luca!”

I turned around.

Amelia jogged toward me, her dark curls bouncing. “You heading to class?”

“Yeah. Anthropology.”

She fell into step beside me. Amelia was the kind of person who radiated effortless confidence, her laugh always a little too loud.

“Are you going to the party tonight?”

I arched a brow. “What party?”

“The one at Delta Gamma Phi. Greek Gods theme. Think Mount Olympus but with way more booze and questionable decisions.”

“Sounds over the top.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s college. Everything is over the top. Anyway, they’re going all out. Golden laurel crowns, toga contests, a ‘drink like Dionysus’ competition. Someone’s bringing in a live peacock.”

“A peacock?”