26. Dante #2
All the while, Vivian cries and screams muffled pleas into her gag. The cloying, coppery scent of blood overpowers the aromas of food.
I wonder if she realizes yet that she’s going to die in this room.
Yet again, my mind seeks out Sara. This is the possible fate that awaits her. Not at my hands, because I refuse to lie to myself any longer, but at the Council’s.
If they learn what’s happening between us, if they discover my thirst for vengeance has vanished, they’ll punish her for the sin of being loved by a demon like me.
Nightmare blends with reality, superimposing Sara’s pale, tortured face over Vivian’s.
My stomach heaves, and I bite my cheek to temper the urge to vomit.
Sara is not Vivian. If I don’t keep my head on straight, I could wind up on my knees beside my mother’s old friend.
Even if this poor woman miraculously walks out of Paradiso, bloody and broken but breathing, she won’t last long. Too many are eager to curry favor with the Council, and if that means sacrificing a broken cog in the machine, then so be it.
The metallic taste of fear coats my tongue. If the Council finds out I’m involving an outsider in family business, being whipped to death would be merciful compared to what they’d do to my coniglietta.
My own fate doesn’t concern me, but the thought of the Council forcing me to watch them break her horrifies me. The pain in my head nearly incapacitates me, and my nails bite into the skin of my palms.
I still haven’t located the mole who’s been feeding information to the Council, so they may already realize what I’m up to behind their backs.
No one knows just how far the Council’s influence extends.
Sara remains in her cell for that very reason, but for anyone who peeks beneath the surface, it’s obvious she’s no ordinary captive.
Once I start down this path, my brain can’t seem to stop. Every second we spend apart ratchets my anxiety higher. I fish my phone out of my pocket and tap open the security app so I can access the cameras in my house.
After a few heart-pounding seconds of waiting for the feed to load, an image of her materializes on my screen. She’s sitting on the ground in front of her open cell door, playing cards with Gregor.
I scowl behind my mask.
“Your weakness roots you out in a crowd, Argento.”
Zanni’s whispered observation jolts through me like a dire warning.
Adrenaline floods my system too late considering his forearm is already pressed into my throat.
The Councilor backs me into a wall as a hush ripples through the room.
In the resulting silence, the crack of the whip dies with a hiss.
I bare my teeth and capture his wrist to thwart my desire to punch his face. This isn’t the time to fight back. Not while surrounded by the Council and their hounds.
One day, though. One day I will assist in bringing these masked assholes to their knees and listen as they plead for mercy.
I release him and raise my palms to show I’m no threat, though nothing could be further from the truth.
Grabbing my phone with his free hand, Zanni holds the screen up and chuckles. “Ah, right. The sweet little doll you keep locked up in your basement.” I snatch back my phone and shove it into my pocket as he continues. “Maybe I should pay her a visit, hm? I’ve been looking for a new toy.”
I swallow the enraged snarl that builds in my throat. My fingers twitch with the urge to wrap themselves around his neck and squeeze, but that action will get Sara killed before I ever leave the room. Assuming they wouldn’t off me on the spot.
Or try to, anyway. Because if any of these assholes lays a single finger on Sara, I’ll chop off their hands and use them as backscratchers.
“I was checking to make sure the bitch is still locked up.” The slur sounds foul. Wrong in a way it didn’t before.
Tsking, Zanni presses harder against my throat. “She looks fine to me. Almost like she’s having a fucking sleepover.”
He pushes in close, the phallic nose of his mask brushing against my face. I can almost see his eyes through the slits, and I imagine fucking up both our nights by pulling off the disguise.
“The guard on duty tonight is new.” I strive to exude a calmness I don’t feel. “An idiot who’s easily swayed by a pretty woman. I’ll discipline him when I return.”
Zanni chuckles. He smells rank, like an infection or rotting skin, and I inhale the reek through my nose like a bloodhound so I can find him again once this is all over. “And who’s going to punish you for your obsession with that pretty woman?”
I sneer. “I don’t—”
“I heard there was quite a ruckus at the Conti’s annual benefit the other night. My whispers inform me you left with a curvy blond on your arm.” I swear his eyes flash behind his mask. “Tits you could bury your face in, I hear. That true?”
Rage blinds me, and the desire to snap Zanni’s arms like twigs becomes a tangible thing.
That’s what he wants, though. To provoke me so I lash out and he has a real reason to kill me…before going after Sara. More games where the house always wins.
So, I resist the bait and bite my tongue, shoving Zanni away to demonstrate who’s stronger. Guards along the walls shift forward, but Arlecchino motions them back and leans forward himself as if eager for us to come to blows.
I could take Zanni down easily, drive my fist into him until he’s choking on teeth and blood and bits of mask, but I don’t.
I can’t. My entire life, the Councilors have acted as untouchable boogeymen, even among the mafia.
Physical strength means nothing when those above you can destroy you and your entire family with the snap of their fingers.
“Do you seriously think I’d let that bitch off with a slap on the wrist after what she put me through?” I force ire into my tone. “She’s nothing to me but a punching bag I can fuck when the mood strikes, and anyone who thinks differently should get their eyes checked.”
The room is deathly quiet. Can they hear my heart pounding? See the sweat on my skin in the shadows? I know how to prove myself, but with the old conviction and bitterness gone, their absence leaves a hollow in my chest.
“That’s good. A couple of us were concerned you were getting soft.”
He laces the statement with an obvious challenge.
In the background, Vivian still sobs. With my jaw clenched, I pull away from Zanni.
After the briefest of hesitations, he lets go, and once I’m free, I stride through the crowd until I reach the beaten and bloodied Vivian.
I snatch the whip from the man beating her—some mid-level capo named Antoin—and force myself to feel nothing when she flinches and braces for more pain.
Her back is shredded, yet a line of sick fucks still waits for their turn.
With a swish of my wrist, the whip strikes her once. Twice. Three times. Even tempering the blows via flashy motions, Vivian wails and jerks.
I’m done.
Heaving an aggravated sigh, I become the embodiment of annoyance. “I’m growing bored, and the traitor just bled on my shirt.”
Flicking an imaginary speck off my sleeve, I feign a growl and dive forward, throwing an arm around her neck. In the next instant, I bury my face into her sweat-soaked hair. “Go in peace, sorella d’anima,” I whisper, so softly that only she can hear.
She shudders, her body calming at last.
Under the guise of Argento rage and cruelty, I do what I wished someone had done for me when I found myself at the mercy of the Ghost and his men. With one quick motion, I snap her neck and release her from her misery.
No one moves or speaks as I lower her to the ground. Straightening, I step over Vivian’s body and stride toward the doors. “If you’ll excuse me. I don’t want this stain to set into my favorite shirt.”
I’m relieved when no one attempts to stop me. For the moment, it looks like they bought my excuses regarding Sara, but that grace period has an expiration date. I plan to ensure that when they finally come to collect, Sara is somewhere far, far, away from me.
The wrenching pain beneath my ribs is of no consequence.
I barely exit the chamber before my phone rings. Luca’s name flashes across the screen, and I answer while shouldering a red-eyed stoner out of my path. “Luca? What—”
“Something tripped the silent alarms.”
My heart falters, and I strip the mask off my face while sucking in a lungful of air.
The townhouse is the most obvious location of the mole’s burrow, so I installed silent alarms after speaking with Giovanni.
In the absence of any recent incidents, I almost forgot about them.
“What do you mean, something? Have you checked the cameras yet?”
“I’m working on it.” Luca’s tone signifies he means business. “But chances of it being an accident are slim. You need to get home. Now.”
As I rush for my car, I should be focused on my men’s safety and the valuables or intel stored in the penthouse.
Yet only one face haunts my mind as I hit the gas and race from the parking lot.
Sara’s.