Page 63 of Beautiful Ruins
Six years.
Six years since I’d buried my wife.Since I’d stood at the graveside and lowered my son into the ground beside her.
Six years of existing instead of living.
I went through the motions.Built the business.Expanded the territory.Managed the violence.But I felt suspended, like the world had moved forward and left me fixed in a moment I couldn’t escape.
Six years without touching another woman.Not because of loyalty.Not because of virtue.Because there had been no desire.No spark.No urge to feel anything beyond the steady hum of grief and responsibility.
I hadn’t wanted to protect.I hadn’t wanted to claim.I hadn’t wanted to risk losing again.Until now.
Izzy stood in my room with bruises on her skin and defiance in her spine.Sweet.Too sweet for this world.Too trusting.Too willing to sacrifice herself for men who hadn’t earned a fraction of it.
She didn’t see how she destroyed herself in the name of preserving others.And I couldn’t decide what unsettled me more.The fact that I wanted to protect her.Or the fact that I wanted to keep her.
My grief had kept me numb for six years.She had walked into my house and disrupted that numbness without even trying.
Her gaze finally lifted to meet mine.There was no fear in it.Just awareness.And something fragile beginning to form between us—something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a long, long time.
The urge wasn’t gentle.It was primal.To stand between her and every threat.To ensure no one ever touched her again.To take what was left of my broken heart and wrap it around her like armor.
That was the real danger.Not the Russians.Not Nathan.Her.Because wanting her meant I had something to lose again.And I wasn’t sure I remembered how to survive that.
Her hand lifted slightly—like she might touch me.Then stopped.
“You should probably get dressed,” she spoke softly.
“I probably should.”
Neither of us moved.
The tension wasn’t explosive.It was steady.Building.
Finally, I stepped back, breaking the spell just enough.
“Coffee?”I offered.
She blinked, like she’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.
“I’ll make it,” she said.
And as she turned to leave the room, I watched her go with the same certainty that had settled in my chest earlier.
She was under my roof.In my territory.And anyone who mistook that for weakness was going to learn exactly how wrong they were.
20
Izzy
Morning light streamed through the tall windows, catching the steam rising from the coffee machine and turning it into something soft and golden.The world outside his house carried on as if nothing had changed, as if doors hadn’t been kicked in and threats hadn’t been whispered into my skin.
I stood barefoot on the cool marble floor and focused on something simple.
Coffee.
It was muscle memory for me.Grinding the beans.Measuring.Listening to the machine hum to life.The scent bloomed in the air—rich, dark, grounding.Familiar.
I needed familiar.
