8. Dante
Dante
My fist drives forward with enough force to rocket the heavy Muay Thai bag backward. Marco, unwillingly tasked with holding it steady for this Wednesday’s sparring session, winces.
He braces the bag for my next strike, but my combo sends him stumbling anyway.
My brother steps back with a curse and shakes his head.
“Look, I’m just going to say it. At this point, therapy would be cheaper than whatever the fuck it is you’re doing right now.
” A few years younger than me, Marco Argento is everything I’m not.
A ladies’ man known for his charm and easy humor, he’s left a string of broken hearts all over New York.
With his pitch-black hair and olive eyes, he resembles our mother, Dulce, the most. Though broad-shouldered and muscular, he takes his job as underboss for the Argento family about as seriously as if he were the pity hire at the local Dairy Queen.
Since he won’t commit to anything else, I try to make the most of our weekly meetups at his gym, The Swarmer.
Even though he’s as integral to the organization as I am, Marco keeps his participation to a minimum. Sometimes I envy his ability to say, “Fuck it,” and disappear. Most days, I wish I could do the same, but too much rides on my keeping the Argentos going.
I throw another punch, sweat trickling down my temple. “Go screw yourself.”
I wince at my own venom, but Marco doesn’t get offended.
Entering into an argument with him won’t help anything, so I pause long enough to reign in my temper and try to remember how to act normal.
To wear the mask again. The morning after a nightmare is always harder.
I wake up confused, with my brain convinced me I’m still trapped in the dark.
That I never left at all. “Got a lot on my mind.”
Those first few minutes are the worst because the fear is as fresh as it once was. Even the pain still bites. Boxing with Marco is a much-needed change of pace and puts me firmly back in control of my own body.
When I finally escaped my torturers and found my way home, Marco was the first to rush to my side. He saw how bloody and bruised I was, how those fuckers had utterly torn me apart. What he didn’t know was just how deep my wounds ran. So deep that I still can’t talk about them. Even with him.
No one can know how weak I’ve become, least of all my brother. Like so many others, he looks to me as the real head of the Argento family. An underboss can’t afford to be crippled by anxiety. If the other families think I’ve lost my edge, they’ll eat us alive.
Marco eyes me as he wipes his face with a towel. “Is it Sara?”
I freeze at her name and shoot my brother a glare. He’s annoyingly shrewd when sober. “How did you know?”
Marco rolls his eyes, sitting on the edge of the ring while he watches me work out the kink in my shoulder. “Everyone knows.” Grabbing his water bottle, he swigs a few mouthfuls. “Well. Not everyone. Rumor is you took a nurse hostage, and I just put two and two together.”
My brother is the only one I’ve ever talked to about Sara.
The only one who understands what she used to mean to me and how much I was once willing to give up to live in her world.
If I didn’t trust him implicitly, I might have thought he informed the Council about Sara and me.
But Marco’s not capable of that kind of betrayal.
He might be a fuck-up, but he’s loyal to a fault.
“No. It’s not about her.” Though I turn away, he still spots the lie. “Mind your own business.”
Scrunching his nose, Marco throws up his hands in surrender.
“Che palle, forgive me for wondering why your ex is locked up in your townhome.” He pauses, his demeanor shifting to something dangerous and cold rather than playful.
“You sure you don’t want me to come take care of her for you?
” His hand flexes at his side, and I know if he had his knife, he’d be absent-mindedly flipping it end over end.
He’s insane if he thinks I’d let him anywhere near her, brother or not.
Determined to maintain a light mood, I smile when inside all I want to do is snap at him for the ridiculous offer. “You sure you don’t want to go another couple of rounds with me?” I crack my knuckles for effect.
Marco scoffs before backing down without complaint. “I’m good.”
Satisfied that the threat will shut him up for now, I hit the showers and wash off. Afterward, I pack up my gym bag and toss it into the Alfa Romeo’s trunk.
Back in my home office, I power up the computer and click on the program in the corner of my desktop.
A window pops open, and I pull up the camera feed in Sara’s cell.
I told myself that I wouldn’t check on her, but my body switches into autopilot, with some dark, lost part of my heart serving as navigator.
I should minimize the screen and find another way to occupy my time until Luca arrives for our meeting, but that’s not happening.
Sara has my full, undivided attention, whether I like it or not.
I knew forcing her to witness Gregor get beaten to a pulp would strike a nerve.
And flaunting his injuries in front of her only deepened the wound.
My tesoro never could stand the sight of someone in pain if she could prevent it.
A little fixer, always with that trademark empathy.
To really make her suffer, I should have left her to rot in her own filth longer, but offering tiny comforts and then snatching them away will hurt worse in the long run.
I want her to be dependent on me for everything.
Grateful for even the smallest crumb. I want to wear her down until nothing of her remains, yet even that won’t be enough of a punishment for what she did to me.
On the screen, Angela brings Sara lunch, and the two of them share whispers.
Angela is added insurance to keep Sara in line, but I don’t fully trust the woman to follow instructions.
It’s one of the other reasons why Gregor is there instead of recuperating from his pummeling.
Unfortunately, the bastard is healing fast, so I’ll only be able to flaunt his injuries for so long before I’ll have to come up with a new strategy.
Maybe I’ll smash his kneecaps with a baseball bat.
Not my first choice since I’m already short-staffed, but a worthy sacrifice on Gregor’s part if it even remotely upsets Sara.
Angela leaves a minute later, and Sara reaches for her food, pauses, then draws her hand away. Frowning, I hunch forward like I’m in a movie theatre and the dumbass on screen is about to act dumb. “What the hell are you up to now?”
Everything about Sara is familiar to me. Her heart-shaped face. The way she tucks her hair behind one ear when she’s concentrating. How she paces from one end of the room to the other, her gaze trained on the floor because she’s usually lost in her own head.
I recognize the little lily tattoo on her inner wrist that I convinced her to get one night when we were both drunk, and her muttering to herself while she plots her escape, like I can’t hear every damn word.
What I don’t recognize is the nervous way she picks at her skin. Her nails dig into the delicate bend of her elbow as she stares at the wall, her gaze vacant. I reach for the intercom button so fast that I knock over a stack of folders at the corner of my desk. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Sara screeches and kicks over her tray, scattering food everywhere.
An apple rolls across the floor and bangs into the door while she clutches her chest, scrutinizing the ceiling as if she might find me hanging from the rafters like a bat.
Clearly she didn’t know the camera in her cell had a speaker. “H-hello?”
My teeth grind together, and I try again, calmer this time. “What are you doing? Why are you picking at yourself like that?”
She scoffs, folding her arms across her chest. “Why do you care?”
Anger damn near chokes me. Sara is mine. Every part of her belongs to me.
When did she start doing this? How often does it happen? Why is she doing it? She’s about to respond when a knock rattles my office door. I force-quit the screen moments before Luca steps in.
My second catches one glimpse of me and pauses, his gaze flicking between my computer screen and me. “Am I interrupting?”
I want nothing more than to reopen the feed and rewind to hear what she was about to say, but I don’t. I need to get myself under control before she weakens my resolve further. Luca provides a welcome reminder that Sara isn’t the only piece in this game.
“No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. What do I care if she’s tearing at her skin? I’m not supposed to concern myself with anything except her pain. That’s the entire point.
Luca drops into a seat across from me without direction. He eyes the scattered papers on the ground but doesn’t comment. Instead, he slides a folder toward me.
When I open it, I’m greeted with several photographs of a man lying face-first in a ditch, nothing but a bloody, empty hole where his brain and skull should be.
“What am I looking at?”
“Our lead? The one you shot on the fire escape? Fucker didn’t even last the week.”
I close the folder, swiping the entire thing away from me. Another bust. “Shit.”
Luca snorts. “Tell me about it.”
The Ghost. The only one of my former captors who still haunts this earth. Despite me exhausting every resource at my disposal, the bastard continues to live up to his nickname by remaining elusive. The last lead Luca tracked was in the shower when I paid him a visit.
The Ghost’s men are loyal to a fault. Even the threat of a bullet and all the torture didn’t inspire him to talk.
The jackass made a run for it buck naked. He climbed out the window and down the fire escape before my bullet tunneled straight through his gut. Wailing sirens closed in not even thirty seconds later—way too quick for a normal 911 response—preventing me from chasing him to get answers.
I fled his shitty apartment before the first cop pulled up outside the slanted brick building. My men were tracking him the same day I followed Sara, and my last-minute abduction threw my Ghost-hunt off the rails. Now it’s time to get back on track.
Unfortunately, our most promising clue has died. The Ghost must have killed him when he realized I was closing in. I hate that I let that opportunity slip through my fingers…
Leaning back in my seat, I crack my knuckles, my mind racing. Luca doesn’t say as much, but he thinks I screwed up. Still, I couldn’t ignore the chance to get to Sara, so I’ll just have to live with the fallout.
“What’s our next move?”
As Luca rolls his neck, I note the shadows under his eyes.
This mission to capture the Ghost has exacted a toll on all of us.
Luca wants him almost as badly as I do, because he’s devoted like that, but I still can’t help the pang of guilt in my chest. “I might have something, but it’s flimsy.
May not be worth the time. Of course, we could always ask the Council—”
“We’re not asking the Council for shit.” I cut him off before he completes the thought.
Going to the Council for assistance in finding the Ghost is out of the question.
They might have the resources, but I refuse to indebt myself to them, and I damn sure don’t want them snatching my kill out from under me.
We’re so close. We just need to stay the course.
“You say you have another lead? I don’t care how flimsy. Follow it.”
“Understood.” He rises to his feet. “You look like shit. Come out with us for a bit tonight. It’ll help distract your mind from other things.”
I exhale through my nose. “I’ll think about it.
” I dismiss him with a curt wave of my hand, ending the meeting early.
Even with so much left to discuss, all I can think about is the absent look in Sara’s eyes as she dug into her own skin.
What other little habits has she picked up?
How much of her is the woman I once knew? And why the fuck do I even care?
Doesn’t matter, dumbass. Just stick to the plan.
The plan. Right. My revenge doesn’t end with Sara. One way or another, I need to find the Ghost and force him to pay for his actions.
In the meantime, I’ll have a little fun with my captive. I want to switch her camera back on because the urge to watch her is impossible to ignore. If I could study her for long enough, maybe my brain could reconcile memories of the old version of Sara with this new one.
I shake my head in disgust. The old Sara was a mirage, one that was destroyed as soon as she betrayed me. I’d do well to remember that. If I’m not careful, she could lure me right back into the trap of those big, innocent eyes.
Ignoring the monitor that broadcasts her cell, I reach for the temperature control and crank it down.
Let her suffer. She deserves every discomfort…and a whole lot more.