Page 34 of Ruthless Sinner

The knife digs into Adalina’s throat. I see a few droplets of her blood slide down her pretty little neck. She looks at me without a shred of fear in her gaze, and I know what she’s thinking without her saying a word.

“Beat you to death it is.”

Chapter 36

Adalina

Iwill wait for Marco to disembowel me before I succumb to fear. The sharp, searing pain of his knife pressing against my throat is a mere annoyance compared to the thundering sound of my father’s men falling one by one around me. Their groans and gasps fill the air as their blood spills, creating a macabre symphony of death.

Dante is a force of fucking nature. He single-handedly takes down The Wall and the other men before setting his sights on Marco. Blood spatters across his face, painting him in a savage veneer as he relentlessly tackles each opponent in his path.

I blink and almost miss the fight. Dante moves, the knife cuts into the skin above my collarbone, and suddenly, I’m thrown to the ground.

“No one makes her bleed,” Dante roars. The two men circle each other like predators, their movements calculated and lethal. Marco’s eyes are filled with malice as he glances back at me before lunging at Dante.

But Dante is ready for him, dodging and parrying every blow with ease. He moves like liquid steel, his body fluid and agile as he evades Marco’s attacks. And then, in one swift motion, he disarms Marco and pins him to the ground. He begins to meticulously hit Marco over and over again. The man fights back, but he can’t overcome the sheer rage that drives Dante forward.

In the end, there is blood everywhere. Mine, Dante’s, Marco’s, John’s, and more. The pretty white room I’ve stayed in for the last week is drenched in red. Every surface is stained and splattered, from the plush carpets that will need to be replaced to the delicate lace curtains. Nothing in this room has escaped the violence that took place here.

Dante climbs off Marco’s mangled, unrecognizable body. The savagery is startling. “Let’s go,” he insists, extending a hand to help me up.

As I rise to my feet, a shiver runs down my spine, sending tiny bumps across my skin. Dante, ever thoughtful, grabs a plush throw blanket from the couch and drapes it around me, shielding my bare body from anyone else we may run into. The soft fabric feels warm and comforting against my chilled skin, a temporary sanctuary amidst the chaos and danger surrounding us.

With a steady hand, he leads me back to his room, where another lifeless body lies sprawled on the floor in front of the closet. Dante’s grip on my arm is firm and reassuring as he reaches for the phone on his nightstand.

“Martinelli counterattack,” he says when the person on the other end picks up.

Although I can’t make out the words, I hear concern in the hushed whispers from the man on the other end of the phone. Dante guides me through the doorway, leading me to a room I haven’t seen yet. Surprisingly, it is not drenched in blood like the rest of the house.

“Shots fired downstairs. Enzo may be dead or hurt, along with additional staff. Two dead for sure, maybe more. Backup needed immediately. We’ll also need Silas.” Dante perches on the edge of the bed, his head bobbing up and down in agreement with the voice on the other end of the phone. “Thanks. See you soon.”

The moment the call ends, I ask who he called.

“My brother,” he replies. “Where are you hurt?”

I feebly extend my arm towards him, my bones aching in protest. “John broke my wrist.” The skin is already bruising, and a dull throb radiates from the break.

“Your face is bruised.” Dante’s gentle touch sends a shiver through my body as his fingers trace the curve of my cheek. I hadn’t noticed any damage from Marco’s earlier punch, but now I can feel a faint tenderness in that spot. “And your lip is busted open. And,” he sighs as he brings his finger to the cut on my neck, “you will probably need stitches.”

I reach up and place my hand over his, frowning. In the moment, I remember the stinging pain as the knife cut into me, but now I barely notice it.

“It’s the adrenaline,” Dante says as if reading my mind. “Once it wears off, you’ll feel like you got run over by a truck.”

When he doesn’t survey his own injuries, I take on the task. My eyes scan over his body, taking in each bruise and cut with a mix of concern and pride. “Whose blood is that?”

Dante’s face scrunches into a frown as he looks down at his body. After a moment, he shrugs, dismissing the question. “Some of mine, some of theirs. I think I got shot.” He pulls his hand from my neck to touch his shoulder. A sharp gasp escapes his lips as he gingerly examines the wound. He tentatively touches it, the warm wetness returning when the crusted over blood breaks open. “Shit, yeah,” he shakes his head. “Definitely got shot. Fucker missed a major artery, though.”

“A chunk of skin is missing.”

“Don’t worry,” Dante’s warm hand reaches out to comfort me as my eyes widen with concern, seeking reassurance in his touch. His voice, soft and soothing, fills the air with a sense of calm amidst my anxiety. “I’m going to be fine. But listen, did they touch you? Did-did,” he struggles to get the words out. For a second, Dante goes quiet and starts to monitor his breathing. It takes him a minute, but he gets there. “Did they rape you? Because I saw how they had you on the bed. I noticed their pants were unbuckled.”

I know it was only moments ago, but it feels like a lifetime since they bent me over the bed and said they were going to fuck me before taking me back to my father’s to be tortured. “No,” I shake my head vehemently. “They were going to, but they didn’t.” I urged them on. I was willing to be raped instead of submitting to them. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“You can tell me if they did,” Dante goes on. “If there are any of your father’s men in the house who aren’t dead, they’ll be thoroughly punished. And don’t get me started on what I’m going to do to your father.”

Hope wells up in my chest, an eternal spring I thought was long forgotten. “What are you going to do to my father?”

His eyes avoid mine, instead scanning the room as if searching for something to focus on. “How about you tell me if you want him to survive? Because if you don’t want me to kill him, I won’t. But that’s all I can promise you, Adalina. Everything else is up to me.”