Page 43 of Ruthless Sinner
I wish Tommaso had been there the night of the home invasion. I would have taken my time breaking every bone in his body. “I agree. That’s why I’m here asking you for help and not someone else.”
“You brought your bodyguard, though.” Raiden looks Enzo up and down. “You don’t trust us or what?”
“He goes with me everywhere.” The last thing I need is a burly, leather-clad biker getting it into his head that I can’t trust him. “He took a bullet from Martinelli’s men. He wants his revenge just as badly as I do.”
Raiden’s features morph into a show of respect. Instead of being disgusted by Enzo’s presence, he nods his head coolly at the man and turns to look at me. “You got a deal, Terlizzi. But when we get Martinelli, you better be at the drop-off. I don’t want your guys there to cover your ass.”
I know what the Destroyers expect from me. They don’t insulate their boss from getting caught by the police. If something has to be done, the President does it himself. It’s a different setup than the one our families follow, but I respect their traditions. “You just worry about getting Martinelli as relatively unharmed as possible. I want him in pristine condition.”
“He might take a few hits,” Raiden replies with a shrug. “We’ll try not to rough him up too much.”
At the end of the day, as long as I get the call that they’re ready to exchange Tommaso for a bag of cash, I don’t care what they do to him. “See you soon, Drake.”
Chapter 45
Adalina
As my mind drifts away into slumber, I am suddenly jolted back to consciousness by a gentle shake of my arm. The voice that follows is soft and soothing, like a feather brushing against my ear. “Adalina,” it whispers urgently. “Wake up.” My eyes flutter open, adjusting slowly to the dim light surrounding me. For a moment, I am disoriented, unsure if I am still in the dream world or back in reality. Then, as my senses fully awaken, I realize that someone is standing next to me, their hand still resting on my arm.
Dante’s features are shadowed in darkness, but I can see the concern lighting up his face. “It’s just me,” he whispers. “Is everything okay?”
A single bead of sweat forms on my brow, threatening to fall. I quickly brush it away with the back of my hand, hoping Dante doesn’t notice it. “Yes, of course,” I reply, feeling the adrenaline of being awakened at 3:00 am start to fade away. “What happened?”
His expression shifts, his gaze still sharp and critical. “I got a call a few minutes ago. They found your father.” His voice, laced with urgency, cuts through the stillness of the room.
A lump forms in my throat, and I struggle to swallow, my throat contracting with each attempt. My father disappeared after his assassins failed. Last I heard, according to Dante, sources confirmed that Tommaso was still alive, hidden somewhere in the vast expanse of the Kansas Flint Hills. But with no leads or clues on his whereabouts, they were at a loss on how to track him down.
“Who’s they?” I ask after a minute. “Who finally found him?”
Dante’s brows tighten as he explains what happened a couple of weeks ago. “Enzo and I met with a motorcycle gang from Rosedale a few weeks back. The guy who runs their drug operation is the supplier for some of your dad’s men.”
It doesn’t surprise me that my father’s guards take drugs. They have no families to go home to, no loved ones to share their joys and sorrows with. Instead, they seek pleasure in the arms of prostitutes, numbing their senses with cocaine and finding satisfaction in beating defenseless young girls. It sickens me to think that these are the men entrusted with protecting my father, but it’s even more revolting to know that this is what brings them pleasure.
“They’ve been tracking your dad’s movements, and tonight they finally got him. There’s a handoff happening, and I’ve got to be there for it. But I need to know if you want to come. You don’t have to,” Dante adds quickly. “I’ll understand if this is too much. But Tommaso has to pay for what he did.”
Dante keeps talking, but I can’t make out his words. They blend into the background like a steady stream of white noise, lost in the jumbled mess of my thoughts.
For as long as I can remember, my existence has been overshadowed by my father’s control. Every move I made was dictated by his iron will. But finally, after a lifetime of captivity, I am free from his tyranny. “No,” I cut Dante off in the middle of his sentence. “I want to be there.” More than that, I need to be there. I need to see my father pay for his sins. He’ll never pay back the money he owes the Terlizzis. He’ll never be forced to endure everything he did to me. He’ll never face the same fear he put others through. But if I can see him get his comeuppance just this once, even if it isn’t for what he did to me, that just might be enough.
“As long as you’re sure.” Dante sounds hesitant.
I pull resolve from somewhere inside of me. I feel its tendrils unfurl as bravery reaches out to entwine with every fiber of my being. “I don’t care what you do to my father. You can kill him or keep him a prisoner. It doesn’t matter to me. But I need to be there.” I can’t bring myself to look Dante in the eye. I’m afraid if I do, he’ll see the rage and anger in mine.
He slides off the edge of the bed and extends a hand to me. “If it becomes too much, you’ll tell me, right?”
I grasp his rough hand, feeling the callouses and strength in his grip as he helps me up. As I raise my eyes to meet his, I am struck by the realization that this man, once a stranger, has become my ally. The same rage and anger I feel is reflected back at me in his gaze. He holds the same contempt for my father that I do. “It won’t be too much,” I reassure him.
“But if it is,” he begins.
Once again, I interrupt him. Not because he doesn’t mean well but because he’s wasting his breath. “I’ll let you know. But it won’t be too much.” If anything, it’ll be too little. But what am I supposed to do? How do I tell Dante that I want to see my father suffer twenty-one years of torment? That I want to witness Tommaso Martinelli experience every ounce of pain and cruelty he inflicted upon me since the day I was born?
I endured an eternity of agony under my father’s will. Every day brought beatings, endless humiliation, and unspeakable abuse, but I did not break. My spirit may have been bruised, but it was never shattered.
I want that for my father. I want it so bad that my hands shake with a titillating infusion of excitement and fear.
Months ago, I warned my father that his guards would regret laying their hands on me, that he would look back on that moment and know that it was the beginning of the end. I can’t recall what I did to upset him that day, but I hope he remembers our conversation. And when he is on his knees, pleading for mercy with a gun pressed against his head, I hope he remembers what I said. I hope he begs for his life, knowing his words are falling on deaf ears.
And I hope I’m the one who gets to pull the trigger.