Page 33 of Beautiful Ruins
That bothered me more than deceit would have.
I found her in the sitting room, perched at the edge of the couch with a mug of coffee she’d made herself, knees tucked up, attention half on the window like she expected something—or someone—to appear out of the dark.
She looked up when I entered.
“Am I in trouble?”she probed.
She was direct, if nothing else.
I closed the door behind me.“I want to talk.”
She nodded once and set the mug down.“Where’s Tone?”
“She had some sort of emergency,” I said.“Had to rush out.”
The lie sat too easily on my tongue.
I was glad they’d bonded—gladder than I was willing to admit.Tone had a way of cutting through people, of finding the soft places without meaning to.The fact that she’d taken to Izzy so quickly unsettled me more than it reassured me.I didn’t know what it meant yet, only that it complicated things.
If anything, it made me consider sending Izzy home.
Not because I thought she was a danger.She wasn’t.Not in the way that mattered.But her presence kept Tone close, and Tone’s closeness was a liability I couldn’t afford.Anyone near me eventually paid for it.That was the pattern.That was the cost of orbiting my life.
If Izzy left, Tone would follow.She’d retreat to a safer distance, back to the version of my world I’d curated for her—guarded, clean, untouched by the mess I lived in every day.
I could breathe easier then.Because it wasn’t Izzy I was afraid of.It was the possibility that I’d already put my sister in danger just by letting her stay near me.
I sat opposite her, forearms braced on my knees, posture open by design.I kept my voice level.Gentle, even.It took effort.
“Nathan Azzopardi.”His name out of your mouth mouth felt like a curse.“How long have you been together?”
She blinked.“Two years.Why?”
“What do you know about him?”
“Why are you asking, Raze?What’s going on?”
She readjusted in the chair, angling her body toward me, and sent me a look that was equal parts curious and wary.I couldn’t tell what she was weighing—whether she was wondering how I knew her boyfriend’s name, or bracing for news she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.
She’d requested the use of her phone more than once.I hadn’t given it to her.
And in all that time, no one had tried to reach her.Not a call.Not a message.Nothing lighting up the silence she’d been left in.
That, more than anything else, was… telling.
“Did you know he was running drugs?”
Her brows pulled together, offended.“No.”
I watched her carefully.“Not once did you question where his money came from?”
She let out a short, incredulous laugh.“What money?”
That stopped me.
“He’s a stingy bastard,” she went on, irritation creeping into her voice now.“Painfully so.Never helped with rent.Never chipped in for groceries.I paid for everything.He borrowed money he never repaid.If he was moving drugs, then he was spectacularly bad at profiting from it.”
“You’re telling meyousupportedhim.”
