Page 119 of Beautiful Ruins
And Nathan Azzopardi—shaking, bleeding, and finally stripped of every shield he had tried to hide behind—was exactly where he belonged.
34
Raze
Nathan Azzopardi was on his knees when I left him.
That was how he would live in my memory.Kneeling.Small.Reduced to something that barely qualified as a man.
The club smouldered around us, a gutted carcass of concrete and twisted steel.Smoke clung low to the ceiling, thick and oily, stinging the eyes.The air tasted of gunpowder, melted wiring, and the unmistakable metallic tang of blood.
Bodies lay where they’d fallen — draped over tables, sprawled across the dance floor, half-hidden beneath debris.Blood slicked the floors in dark, reflective sheets, turning the whole place into a distorted mirror of violence.
By morning, Tuscany would wake to speculation.
A tragic explosion.A faulty gas line.An unfortunate accident in a nightlife venue with questionable safety standards.
There would be condolences.Investigations.Carefully worded statements.But there would be nothing left to investigate.I had made sure of that.
Nathan trembled at the centre of the wreckage, wrists bound tight behind his back, shoulders hunched as if he could fold himself out of existence.His expensive loafers — the kind men wore when they wanted to look powerful—were soaked through.Blood and urine pooled beneath him, soaking into designer leather that would never again touch clean pavement.
The sharp scent of fear cut through even the smoke.
His face was drained of colour, lips ghost-white against the red smear split across his mouth.His eyes were wet and unfocused, darting from shadow to shadow as if he still believed someone might appear and save him.His jaw shook so violently his teeth clicked together in an uneven rhythm, a small, pathetic sound swallowed by the distant crackle of fire.
He looked breakable.He looked human.And for a fleeting second, I wondered if this was the first time in his life he had ever understood what it felt like to be powerless.
Then he lifted his gaze to mine.
And whatever flicker of sympathy might have existed inside me died quickly where it landed.
He looked pathetic.
“What’s with the crocodile tears?”Archie drawled, coming to stand at my shoulder.He nudged Nathan’s leg with the toe of his boot like he was testing roadkill.
Nathan flinched.
“I—I didn’t know,” he stammered.“I swear to God, Raze, I didn’t know it was going to be like this.”
Archie snorted.“Oh, he’s swearing to God now.That’s adorable.”
I crouched slowly in front of him.Took my time.Let him feel the weight of it.My shadow swallowed him whole.
“Idiot actually thought he could rewrite his future by coming back here.Joining what remained of the Chernov outfit.Dumber still, he’s trying to convince me he was here tonight for no particular reason.”I tilted my head.“And get this — he just dropped in to check on friends.”
Nathan’s eyes darted between us.Searching.Begging.
“Friends,” Archie echoed.“Is that what we’re calling the Russians now?”I didn’t bother to remind him that he himself was a Russian.
“Like I don’t know you were standing there, already making plans for domination of Tuscany.”
“I wasn’t?—”
I backhanded him.It was hard enough to send him keeling sideways.
Blood dripped from his mouth onto the concrete.
“Good thing we got here when we did then, isn’t it?”Archie said cheerfully.
