Page 31 of Ruthless Sinner
Dante
The grounds are supposed to be impenetrable, but everyone has a price. It doesn’t matter how much you pay for loyalty; there will always be someone else waiting in the wings with a higher bid. If only the fucker in the wings wasn’t using my money to turn my men against me.
The buttons of my pants hang undone as I exit Adalina’s room. With a sense of urgency, I make my way down the hall to my room, where a locked safe in the back of my closet holds a secret stash of guns.
The sound of heavy boots echoes through the first floor, their destructive steps causing the newly restored hardwood to splinter and crack. They knock paintings off the walls, laughing with one another when priceless art shatters into fragments on the ground. Suddenly, another gunshot rings out, followed by a pained gasp. I hope the person who got shot was the man that sold me out.
The sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs sends a jolt of adrenaline through my body. I force myself into the closet, feeling around in the dark for what I’m looking for. There’s no time to think, no time to ponder who might have broken in, but I know deep down that this is Tommaso Martinelli’s revenge for not adhering to his sunset deadline.
With a loud bang, the door to my closet blasts open, startling me as I wrap my hand around the cold, hard metal of a gun.
“Stop right there.” A low, velvety baritone voice resonates through the air, unfamiliar yet commanding. “Dante Terlizzi?”
My heart drops as I glance back and see a grotesque mask obscuring the face of the man pointing a gun at me. “Who’s asking?”
He slowly raises the gun to point it at my face, his finger hovering over the trigger. A tense silence fills the small room as he takes aim. “Tommaso Martinelli sends his regards.”
The loud explosion of the gun fills my ears as I instinctively fling myself to the ground. The bullet whizzes past my head, barely missing its intended target but instead striking the side of the gun safe with a loud clang. In a fit of rage and desperation, the masked stranger curses loudly and fumbles for the closet light switch, hoping to catch me off guard. But I am already prepared.
In a split second, I pounce on the intruder. We tumble to the ground, limbs flailing and grunting in struggle. I manage to grab hold of his arm, but he retaliates with a swift punch to my gut. As we roll around, I catch a glimpse of the gun’s cold metal barrel pointed at my stomach. Adrenaline courses through me, fueling my desperate attempts to break free. Just as his finger tightens on the trigger, I twist and wrench the gun out of his grip, sending it clattering across the floor.
We fight in quasi-darkness, with only the light from the closet as our guide. The stranger’s body is a blur of movement as he lunges towards me, but I manage to land a solid punch to his jaw. He grunts in pain, but it only seems to fuel his determination. With surprising strength, he flips me onto my back and pins me down, his forearm crushing against my throat like a vice. The lack of oxygen makes my head spin and my vision blur, but I refuse to give up. Summoning all my remaining strength, I swing my arm wildly and feel it connect with his head once more. It’s just enough to make him lose his grip and fall off me, but he quickly scrambles for the gun lying on the ground.
I hear screams come from Adalina’s room, and my heart races in overdrive. I need to get back to her.
The intruder’s gun goes off with a deafening bang, and a bullet grazes my bicep, leaving behind a searing trail of pain. I let out a primal roar, my eyes burning with a mix of agony and fury. Blood spurts from the wound, staining my arm and pooling on the floor. The metallic scent fills my nostrils, and my mind goes blank as I unleash a feral rage upon the intruder, fueled by a thirst for vengeance.
You hear stories about women lifting cars off trapped children to save them. It’s an adrenaline-induced strength they don’t ordinarily have and could never replicate, but one they exhibit in times of extreme duress.
The agony of my freshly injured arm is nothing compared to listening to Adalina’s desperate pleas echoing through the house. In a fit of rage, I am consumed by a savage desire to end this man’s life with my bare hands. Inhuman strength courses through me as I dig my fingers into his eye sockets, relishing in the sickening squelch of flesh and bone. His eyeballs bulge and pulsate against my thumbs, but I do not relent. Blood pours from his ruined eyes as I push harder, reveling in the rush of power and retribution coursing through my veins.
He frantically drops the weapon and lunges for my wrists, his screams echoing like a deranged choir through the cramped room. Every movement is like a brush stroke, painting the walls with agony and desperation. The stranger claws at me, trying to break free from my iron grip. His frantic efforts only result in more blood seeping from his eyes, staining his clothes and the floor beneath us. Despite his attempts to fight back—bucking, choking, punching—I remain unyielding. I am an unstoppable force, and he is just another victim of my wrath.
His eyeballs burst like overripe grapes, sending a crimson spray across the right. But it’s not enough. A man can survive without sight, but I am not content to let him live. He entered my home. He threatened me. He shot me. He doesn’t deserve mercy; he deserves a painful death for daring to cross me.
With a fierce growl, I dig my thumbs deeper into his eye sockets, feeling them sink into the soft tissue. His screams of agony only fuel my rage as I begin to relentlessly smash his head against the unforgiving ground over and over again. The bright light from the closet illuminates the gruesome scene, revealing blood spattering in all directions on the dark hardwood floor. His grip weakens under my furious assault, and his once strong body becomes limp. But I am not satisfied yet. I continue to mutilate his face, disfiguring it beyond recognition until there is nothing left but a grotesque and unrecognizable mess.
This man is a stranger to me, but he will not have the luxury of an open casket at his funeral. His blood paints my torso and thighs like a grotesque Jackson Pollock.
Death is never beautiful, but it is necessary. And when Adalina’s screams pierce the veil of my depravity, I know that more than one life will be taken within these walls tonight.
Chapter 34
Adalina
From the darkness of the closet, I hear gunshots and someone crying out in pain. I worry about all the people that live in this opulent mansion. The cook I met once, the housekeeper who comes in once a day to refresh my bathroom, and half a dozen security guards who switch out shifts at the gate every twelve hours. Not to mention Enzo and Dante, who have treated me with every kindness except when I forced them not to.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I am consumed by panicked thoughts, but before I can even process them, the closet door explodes open in a shower of splintering wood.
“Hey there, princess,” greets a familiar yet unsettling voice, “I was hoping I’d be the one to find you.” His face is etched with lines of malice, his teeth bared in a chilling smile.
Fear grips me in its icy tendrils, coiling around my body and squeezing the air from my lungs. I instinctively retreat, forcing myself into the farthest part of the closet.
My father calls him The Wall, a fitting moniker for the imposing figure that towers before me. His name is John, but it’s hard to see him as anything other than a solid mass of muscle and sinew. He is almost inhuman, a creation from a mad scientist’s lab—perfectly designed for brute force and impenetrability.
“Stay the fuck away from me,” I glare at him.
John’s maniacal laughter echoes off the walls as he scrutinizes me with his beady brown eyes. His gaze lingers on my body, tracing every curve in a way that makes my skin crawl. He savors the moment, licking his lips slowly. The sight of him makes bile rise in my throat. “And you’re already naked and waiting for me,” he sneers, lewdly emphasizing each word.