Page 35 of Ruthless Sinner
I have spent countless nights lying in bed, praying for my father to die. I have waited for this moment my entire life, but the words refuse to form on my tongue.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Dante places a hand on the small of my back. “But soon. I need to know if you want him dead or alive.”
Before I can tell him that I’m not conflicted over the outcome, we hear shouts from downstairs. People call Dante’s name—his brother and his men, I suspect.
“Come on,” he helps me up. “The calvary is arriving.”
Chapter 37
Dante
Downstairs isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, but Enzo is injured. He lay motionless on the floor, his once strong body now pale and weak. A deep, bloody wound mars his stomach. Despite his training to stay still and appear dead, it is clear that he has lost a significant amount of blood.
“I’ll call in some favors.” Silas signals for an ambulance to come forward. Enzo is carefully secured onto a stretcher and loaded into the back of the vehicle. “We’ll make sure the police aren’t informed about the gunshot wound.” Silas is a close, personal friend of the family, not to mention on the payroll. He works at the hospital in an official capacity and for the Terlizzis in an unofficial capacity.
Salvatore burst through the front door with a strangled expression contorting his face. “Incoming,” he mutters, barely audible as he rushes past me.
Before I can reply, my father walks through the door. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingers in his wake. “Jesus Christ,” he swears, “you couldn’t wash off before the doc got here?” He eyes me with a cold, detached gaze, taking in every detail, from the bareness of my feet to the dried, crusted blood all over my body. His scrutiny feels like a sharp blade slicing through me, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable. I feel his judgment like a heavy weight as he takes in my disheveled appearance. “Making the family look bad,” Fausto announces with a shake of his head.
I roll my eyes and direct him to the kitchen. “It’s evidence, father.”
“You gonna call the cops?” Fausto’s voice is laced with condescension, his lips curling upwards into a mocking smirk. “Get the police involved?”
I unconsciously clench my jaw, feeling the muscles tighten and strain as I fight the urge to snap at my father. “Hardly. You know that.”
Fausto walks straight to the refrigerator and opens the door. The bright, fluorescent light illuminates his tired features as he reaches for a bottle of wine. It’s 4:00 in the morning, but he pulls out the bottle and pours himself a glass. “All I know is that my dumbass son kidnapped some puttana whose father has no respect for decorum. Now one of your security guards is dead, another is on the run, your bodyguard is going to the hospital, your staff is receiving treatment for shock, you’ve been shot, and your mother and I were woken up by a frantic call from Sal saying there’d been an incident.”
I make a mental note to give Salvatore a well-deserved punch in the groin for involving our father in this mess; he should have known better. “You forgot the three dead bodies upstairs and the three men who were taken to the dungeon. Not to mention Adalina.”
“Let’s not mention Adalina,” Fausto’s voice drops an octave, his words coming out clipped and harsh. He purses his lips together in disapproval as he shakes his head. “This is all your fault. If you’d have cut Tommaso Martinelli’s balls off like I suggested, we’d all be asleep right now.”
I ball my hands into fists at my side, trying hard not to slam them down on the counter and tell Fausto I don’t need his reprimand. I know where I fucked up, and it wasn’t letting Tommaso off with a warning and two fewer balls. “I underestimated him,” I admit between gritted teeth. “But this was necessary for us to know who we’re working with. It’s clear that he isn’t going to pay you back. And, frankly, he’ll keep coming at us until?—”
“Don’t include me in this,” Fausto continues before I finish my sentence. “You got yourself into this mess; you see yourself out of it. You’ve weakened the Terlizzi family name. You made us look foolish. I shouldn’t have handed over the reins to you at such a young age. You’re only thirty.”
“Thirty-one,” I correct.
“Nobody cares.” Fausto goes on. “You’re too young. I should have held power until you were forty, at least. By then, you would have had more brains and experience,” he laments before taking a healthy swig of wine. “This is all my fault.”
By all means, take the blame, I think to myself, but I bite my tongue so the words can’t taste air.
“Where is the girl, anyway?” He looks around the room as if he might find her hiding behind the kitchen island or scurrying beneath the table. “I hope she didn’t come out of this unscathed. How do we know she isn’t helping her father? What with their close relationship,” Fausto emphasizes with a lascivious grin.
It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to ignore the urge to launch myself across the counter and strangle my father. Despite my love and respect for him, he’s pushing me to my limits with his disappointment. My fists clench at my sides, itching to release their pent-up frustration. It’s a battle of wills, and I refuse to be the one to give in first. “She’s being treated in one of the rooms upstairs. Her wrist is broken and needs to be cast.”
Fausto snorts in derision. “You’ve got what, a couple dozen stitches in your arm?” As he squints at the blood-soaked bandage on my shoulder, his face twists into a look of disgust and disbelief. “This whole thing is a fucking nightmare. You send that girl back to her father and then blow their entire fucking house up. You hear me? We’re done with this.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Impulsive words explode from my mouth, hanging heavily in the air between us.
“Excuse you?” Fausto’s eyes narrow into a half-hearted glare, but it lacks the usual intensity and fire that come with his anger. “What did you say to me?”
It’s a warning, a chance to take back what I said and undo my fate. But it’s too late. I am stubborn, and Fausto crafted my future before I even took my first breath. “I said shut the fuck up,” I repeat. “You have spent my entire life preparing me to run the family. You’ve given me all the skills and abilities to do it. Now give me your trust that I’ll do it right.”
Fausto’s eye twitches in anger as he realizes I’m rejecting his authority. The veins in his neck bulge with fury. “You’re too green, boy.”
“Then you should have thought of that before you gave me the keys to the kingdom. I’m in charge now, Father, and I make the decisions. I am keeping Adalina, and you can’t stop me.”
Without a word, Fausto gulps down the last of his wine and slams the glass on the table. His eyes have taken on a crazed glint, dark and wild like a beast’s. I can feel my stomach twist in unease as he fixates his gaze on me, unblinking and unnerving. “Maybe you’re right; maybe I can’t stop you. But if you intend to break your betrothal to Lucrezia, Saverio Castiglione will stop you. And as much as I love you, he’d be well within his rights to kill you.”