Page 23 of Ruthless Sinner
Before we return to the compound, my phone rings with a problem that takes us to Topeka.
Lucia says she’s sure that someone’s been watching her for the last three days, and she’s concerned she’s being followed. This morning, her phone pinged with a notice that an Apple AirTag accessory was tracking her. We change course and head to Topeka because no one fucks with my little sister.
Enzo finds the Air Tag under her car within ten minutes; then, we take a field trip to Best Buy to pick up some cameras. Before heading back home, we make a quick stop at Academy Sports to acquire the necessary tools for my sister’s safety and protection—a sleek stun gun, a collapsible baton, a canister of pepper spray, and a sturdy security bar for Lucia’s front door. I put in a call to a friend in the Topeka police department, too, out of an abundance of caution.
The return trip to Manhattan is a flurry of phone calls and business transactions, split evenly between Enzo and myself. By the time we get back, we’ve scheduled three other meetings for the week and handled a mix-up with a street gang that knocked over a gas station belonging to a member of the family.
While Enzo prepares to serve Adalina another meal, I listen to a presentation from Carlo Donati. He takes his job seriously and returns with three collars, two leashes, and an adjustable harness. There’s a riding crop in the bag, but he tells me they’re all pretty much the same.
“This one isn’t a traditional collar,” Carlo holds it up. The black leather that circles the neck ends a few inches short of the other side. Between the strip of leather is a singular word written in metal that connects the two ends: CUMSLUT. “But it’s demeaning, and that’s what Enzo said you wanted.”
I pluck the collar from his hands, my fingers grazing over the raised letters with heightened anticipation. A shiver runs down my spine as I trace the word etched onto its surface; it stirs up feelings of desire and excitement within me. “And what’s the harness for?” I ask, unable to tear my eyes off the cold metal denigrating a woman’s worth to a singular use.
Carlo is giddy when he explains how it attaches, harnessing a woman’s upper body and torso but leaving her breasts on full display. “Then you use the riding crop to beat the shit out of her tits until they’re black and blue.”
My heart races, and my muscles tense as his words trigger my primal fight response. I look up from the collar and pierce him with a glare. “I don’t beat women, Donati. And if I find out that any of my men are abusing women, I’ll kill them with my bare hands.”
The short, stout man swallows nervously. His already flushed face turns a deep shade of crimson as he bows his head in submission, his body trembling. “Of course, Dante. I would never presume to think you would be hitting a woman for anything but pleasure. Some women enjoy pain and?—”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off. “You can go.”
Carlo shuffles away, his presence replaced a few moments later by Enzo’s. My bodyguard looks at the accouterments strewn across the table and raises an eyebrow in surprise. “Uh, interesting… dinner… entertainment.”
I toss the collar onto the pile of shit Carlo plopped down on the table. “You certainly chose the right man for the job. I can’t say I’m thrilled by the intention behind some of this, but I know how the request sounded. I was angry, and I wanted to hurt and humiliate Adalina.” In a way, I still do.
“I wouldn’t worry about hurting the girl if I were you; she’s doing a good job of doing it to herself.” Enzo takes the seat across from me. “She’s still not eating. I served her dinner, and she told me to shove it up my ass.”
So that’s her plan: to wither away to nothingness through starvation. Too bad I’m not going to let her. “I’ll handle breakfast in the morning. She’ll eat,” I promise.
I eye the CUMSLUT collar, and Enzo follows my gaze. His sigh is heavy, but he doesn’t argue with me. “She’s just doing this for attention, boss,” he offers a moment later.
“And if attention is what she wants, attention is what I’ll give her.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Enzo mumbles under his breath, the words almost inaudible.
I pretend not to hear him. I’m already formulating a plan in my head, and my bodyguard’s disapproval isn’t going to change my mind.
Chapter 25
Adalina
Twenty-two glossy tiles adorn the bathroom floor, each one a perfect square of cool, smooth marble. As I lay on my stomach, my cheek pressed against the chilly surface, I count them over and over again. A dizzying hunger gnaws at my insides, possibly causing me to hallucinate. Is that a flicker of movement I see out of the corner of my eye? Or is it just a trick of the light? Perhaps it’s a bug scurrying across the floor in search of its own sustenance.
To combat my overwhelming boredom, I have resorted to sneaking books from Lucia Terlizzi’s secret stash of bodice rippers. Initially, I scoffed at the idea of reading Viking erotica, deeming myself too refined for such material. But as I delved into Surrendering to the Viking, I realized my mistake. While it may not be a literary masterpiece worthy of a Nobel, it is undoubtedly the most scorching piece of smut I’ve ever read. My father doesn’t allow these kinds of books in our house, so I devour Surrendering in less than a day to spite him. And because it’s so good.
Alas, my picture-perfect morning of stoically refusing to eat and pretending to be pathetic for Enzo’s benefit is cut short when Dante arrives to deliver my breakfast.
I hear him enter and call my name. A second later, there’s a knock on the bathroom door before he walks in to find me sprawled across the tiles. “Get up,” he says curtly.
I pull myself off the ground, my mind sluggish and my limbs heavy. “I’m not hungry.”
He escorts me to the bed. Next to it is a clunky briefcase that begs me to ask questions. “I didn’t ask if you were hungry.” His tone sets the course for our exchange. It’s clear that he doesn’t plan to entertain me.
I sink into the plush pillows at the head of the bed, eagerly reaching for a new book from the neatly stacked pile on my side table. “Then I’m going to read. Your sister has exquisite taste in literature. Her books are riveting.”
With a soft click, Dante opens the suitcase and pulls a thin leather strap wrapped around something I can’t make out. Without arguing, without threatening, Dante reaches over and plucks the book from my hands. “Rivet on your own time. You’re on my time now.”
“What is time?” I wax poetically. “Is it real or simply a concept? Or is it—hey!” He leans forward to wrap the leather around my throat. “What are you doing?”