Page 49 of Beautiful Ruins
Raze
Abottle of good wine sat open on the table beside a plate of fresh bread when I took my seat.It was early afternoon, the lunch crowd long gone, the restaurant settling into that lull between services—private enough for the kind of conversation we intended to have.
Navarro arrived with two men.
I had two of my own.
He looked older than the last time I’d seen him.Not weaker—just… changed.His suit was still expensive, his eyes still sharp, but there was something domestic in the lines around his mouth.Like he’d learned to sleep occasionally.
He took his seat without ceremony, skipping any pretense of a greeting.“Tell me why I’m here.”
I didn’t waste time.“Nathan Azzopardi runs product for you.”
Navarro’s expression didn’t change.“Heranproduct,” he corrected.“Past tense.”
My eyes narrowed.“Meaning?”
“I cut him months ago,” Navarro informed me, leaning back in his chair.“He was sloppy.Greedy.Thought he could siphon off the top and nobody would notice.I noticed.I don’t keep liabilities.”
I watched him for the lie.I didn’t see it.
“And yet men came to my girl’s apartment asking for product he stole.”
Navarro’s gaze sharpened.“Your girl?”
I ignored his question and responded with mine.“Who are they?”
A faint smile appeared—without warmth.“Not mine.”
I held his stare.“You want me to believe your people didn’t rough her up as a message?”
Navarro’s jaw tightened.Just a small, controlled crack beneath the skin.A man restraining reaction instead of indulging it.
“I told you,” he shot back.“I cut him.That was the extent of it.And I’m not in the habit of assaulting women.”
A beat passed.His molars clicked together, the sound faint but sharp, as he struggled to retain his composure.He turned his head slightly, fixing me with a look that was cold, measured, and unmistakably offended.
“I may be many things,” he spoke slowly, each word measured, “but I don’t hurt women.”
There was no bravado in his words, delivered with the kind of conviction that suggested it wasn’t up for debate.Which, of course, made me doubt it more.
I gave him a long, skeptical look.My eyes dragged over his expression, searching for cracks.For tells.For the slight twitch of a liar masking his sins.
Men like Navarro didn’t earn reputations for being gentle.They earned them through bloodshed and fear.Through the certain understanding that violence lived just beneath the surface of their restraint.
“You expect me to believe that?”
His gaze hardened, but he didn’t raise his voice.
“Believe whatever you like.”
He leaned back a fraction, shoulders loose, posture commanding.I tilted my head slightly, still studying him, unconvinced.
“Convenient boundary,” I murmured.
His jaw ticked again, sharper this time.
“Principle,” he corrected.
