Page 86 of The Art of Ruin

“No, that’s you avoiding the question in a way that sounds like an answer.”

I watch her for a second longer, weighing the effort of expanding on it against the fact that I don’t usually have to. Casey is smart; she wasn’t lying about that, but she’s also one of the few people to call me out on things. Mostly, people eitherwork for me and are afraid, or have pissed me off and have a real reason to be afraid. Neither one of those is conducive to honesty. Except she works for me and still asked. That earns my respect and gets her as honest an answer as I can give her.

“They’re different,” I say finally. “Nico sees the larger picture. He’s the eldest, so he was taught from a young age he’d lead us. Matteo focuses on what’s directly in front of him. There’s an easiness about him, like the weight of our name rolls off him.”

“And you?”

“I make sure neither of them encounters problems that require unnecessary correction.”

She considers that, her gaze steady on me. “That sounds like a lot of responsibility. You protect Nico and carry the weight for Matteo.”

My gaze moves to her to find her watching me. Her long dark hair is piled on her head, revealing the delicate arch of her neck. But it’s those brown eyes that keep me frozen.

There’s no pity, just understanding, as if she knows exactly what I do for my family without me ever saying. She sees me, and that isn’t something I planned for. In fact, I’m beginning to think Casey is something I didn’t plan for, and I always plan. The last time I failed to plan, my daughter lost her mother.

“It’s practical.”

“It sounds like you don’t get to just exist,” she says.

The phrasing catches slightly. I don’t react to it outwardly, but I don’t dismiss it either. “Existing without purpose is an inefficient use of my time,” I say.

She exhales a quiet breath that might have been a laugh. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs.

“I’ve been told.”

Her attention shifts back to the screen, but there’s something different in her expression now. Not lighter, exactly.

Just… more aware.

We fall back into silence after that, the show continuing in the background, the space between us settling into something that no longer feels like it needs to be filled.

The call comes through mid-afternoon. We’ve just finished a light lunch of cold cuts, crackers, and fruit. Casey is resting easier this afternoon, and the relief is intense. I’ve gone back to working on my laptop. Being so close to her on the bed was making me forget who I was and what we were. Boundaries are already in tatters; crossing them even more would be a disaster. So when she fell asleep on me, and I had to fight the urge to wrap my arms around her, I moved. Gently easing her to her pillow and shifting back to the chair.

Letty.

Her name flashes across the screen, and I answer it without hesitation, shifting the laptop aside as I do.

“Daddy,” she says immediately, her face filling the screen, bright and animated in a way that suggests she’s already entirely settled in.

“Are you behaving?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says, which is the answer I expected.

Behind her, I can see movement—Nico, Isabella, Matteo, all waving. Voices talking over each other in that familiar way we have when we all get together. I miss them, but I know I never could have left Casey like this and lived with myself.

“There’s snow,” she continues, turning the phone abruptly to show me, the camera angle uneven and unnecessary.

“I assumed there would be.”

“It’s a lot of snow.”

“That was also expected.”

She grins at that, then shifts the phone back, settling it closer to her face. “Are you coming tomorrow?” she asks.

“Yes.”

That seems to satisfy her.