Page 33 of Ruined
I followed Luca through the crowd.
The fighting ring sat dead center in a dim warehouse, bathed in the stark glow of industrial lights hanging from chains. Around it, men shoved money into each other’s hands. Feet stomped against the concrete as another fighter dropped.
Luca’s sharp eyes scanned every face. I stayed behind, letting him take the lead but keeping my gaze on the opposite side of the room. We didn’t need to speak to know what we were doing. It was instinct—checking corners, watching the way certain men lingered too long in one spot, the subtle shifting of money between hands.
“We could scout the upper decks,” Luca muttered, nodding toward the dimly lit balcony above the ring. “Can’t see shit in the shadows over there.”
I smirked. “If you wanted to go somewhere alone, I know a better spot.”
He shot me a look. “Focus.”
“I am. Just multitasking.”
Honestly, he was better at this than I expected. Watching him work was almost as satisfying as getting under his skin.
We moved toward the balcony, weaving through the crush of bodies. My gaze flicked to the edges of the room, noting the way certain groups clustered too tightly.
“Anything?” I asked as we reached the stairs.
“Not yet.” He paused, his head tilting as he scanned the upper level. “You?”
“Couple of guys who look like they’re sweating more than they should be. Could just be the heat.”
“Or they could be waiting for something.” He started up the stairs, his movements smooth despite the creaking metal.
The upper level was quieter. The ring looked like a spotlight on a grimy stage. Luca crouched at the railing, his attention sweeping the crowd below.
“Looks like someone’s dealing by the far wall,” he muttered.
I leaned against the railing beside him. “Bratva?”
“No, but I’ll keep an eye out for anyone watching them too closely.”
I glanced at him. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”
His lips twitched. “I can do everything. Try to keep up.”
“You’ve got enough ego for three men, but I’ve seen what you’re packing.”
He shot me a lazy smile. “Then you know it’s more than you can handle.”
“I already handled it, sweetheart.”
His smirk faltered as if he wasn’t sure whether to rise to the bait or let it slide.
As we moved along the upper level, I couldn’t stop staring at him. It wasn’t often I saw him like this. Most of the time, he was too busy throwing barbs or trying to piss me off.
Pretty boy Luca had it good. If I were half as professional as I pretended to be, I would’ve docked his pay and reminded him that mouthing off to me had consequences. One look into those dark eyes, and I let him get away with attempted murder.
Was it anattempt?
Luca sent out mixed signals. He sucked on my thumb like he needed my cock, but glared at me like it was my fault. Christ. It shouldn’t have felt that good. He had me clenching my fists under the desk to keep myself from shoving my cock into that perfect mouth.
Control yourself.
Luca wasn’t just one of my guys. He was a Costa. I couldn’t fuck him. It wouldn’t end well. He was in such a dark place. He needed to be helped, not bent over, but I craved Luca like the last cigarette before an execution. Every time he squared up to me with attitude, I wanted to slam him against a wall and kiss him.
A roar erupted from the crowd, and the fight in the ring ended with a sickening crack. One fighter dropped like a sack of bricks, blood streaming from his nose.