Page 89 of Beautiful Ruins
Despite everything she’d just told me, I laughed.And for the first time since the gates closed and the house grew dark around us, the sound felt real.
27
Raze
The cigar lounge was the only place in the city where time moved at a different pace.
Steady.Restrained.Unhurried.
No phones on the table.No raised voices.No unnecessary interruptions.Just leather chairs, low lighting, and men who had spent their entire lives carrying the weight of a name older than most governments.
Atlas was already there when I arrived.He was always the first to arrive.Because Atlas was nothing if not punctual.Practical.
He didn’t lean or lounge or sprawl the way lesser men did when they let their guard down.He sat upright, one arm resting along the chair, a glass of dark liquor in his hand, gaze steady in that quiet, observant way that had earned him the title people used when they thought he couldn’t hear them.
Don of all dons.
Not because he demanded it.Because he didn’t need to.
Marcello sat to his right, flipping a lighter open and closed with absent precision, his posture relaxed but his eyes alert in a way that never truly switched off.Years of protecting what was his had wired him that way.
Gianni was the last to arrive before me, already mid-complaint as he dropped into his chair.
“If one more supplier tells me ‘shipping delays’ like it’s a personality trait,” he swore, loosening his cuff, “I’m going to start personally auditing their warehouses.”
“Good evening to you too,” Marcello greeted dryly.
Atlas glanced up as I approached.
“You’re late.”
“By four minutes,” I countered, taking my seat.
“Still late.”
Small talk came first.Not because it was meaningless, but because it established the temperature of the room before anything heavier was placed on the table.
“How’s Mikayla?”Marcello asked Gianni.
Gianni’s expression softened immediately, which in itself was mildly disturbing.
“Pregnant.Again.”It sounded like he was announcing a mild inconvenience instead of a life event.“She says it’s my fault.”
Atlas lifted a brow.“It is.”
Gianni pointed at him.“I came here for support.”
“You came to the wrong table,” I retorted.
A low chuckle passed between us.
“And the girls?”Atlas inquired.
“Running the house,” Gianni stated the obvious.“I live there.They rule it.”
“You wouldn’t have it any other way, cousin,” Marcello reminded him.
Atlas turned to me next.
