Page 167 of The Art of Ruin

His chest rises heavily once, twice.

Then his eyes meet mine again, and something dark settles there. “You tell him to stop, or this is gonna get ugly.”

My pulse pounds hard enough now that I can hear it. “Jasper—”

“Tell him,” he snaps. “Because if he takes everything from me, I swear to God I’ll take everything he holds dear, including you.”

Then he turns and walks away. Leaving me standing there shaking beside scattered groceries while Manhattan continues moving around me like nothing happened.

For several seconds, I can’t breathe properly.

From fear, from hurt, but mostly from the doubt invading me and making my chest feel tight.

Because suddenly all I can think about is Adriano standing in the kitchen two nights ago with his hands on my waist promising me he’d never lie to me.

And now—

Now I fear he already has.

27.Adriano

By the timeI get home that evening, I know something is wrong immediately. Not because the house is quiet. Quiet in the brownstone is rare but not impossible. It’s the kind of quiet this is that triggers my internal radar.

Tense. Not a peaceful quiet, but the eerie one that warns something has happened. Coupled with the unanswered texts from Casey, I know something has happened. I saw her in the house on the cameras, so I also know she’s physically safe, but that’s all I do know.

The second I step through the front door, Elena looks up from the living room with an expression that tells me everything before she even speaks.

“Casey’s in her rooms.”

Every muscle in my body tightens instinctively. “What happened?”

Elena hesitates.

That alone is enough to make something cold move sharply through my chest. “Elena.”

“She ran into Jasper.”

Rage hits instantly. Hot and violent. That piece of shit approached her. He’s a fucking dead man walking.

I set my keys down too carefully on the hallway table because suddenly I’m aware that if I don’t control myself for the next thirty seconds, I may genuinely put my fist through the wall. “Where?”

“Near the deli on the corner.”

“Did he touch her?”

Elena’s expression answers before her words do.

My vision turns blood red.

“She’s okay,” Elena says quickly. “He grabbed her wrist. Shoved her. Nothing worse than a twisted ankle.”

Nothing worse. The fact I’m supposed to find comfort in that nearly makes me laugh.

Instead, I stand there trying to breathe through the overwhelming instinct to hunt him down immediately and break every bone in his body with my bare hands.

“She’s angry. He said some things,” Elena adds quietly.

That cuts through the rage just enough to make my chest ache with regret.