Page 46 of Ruthless Sinner
Of all the siblings I’ve met so far, Salvatore is my favorite. “I don’t have any brothers or sisters,” or at least ones I know personally, “do they usually make fun of each other?”
“All the time. We also get under each other’s skin, call each other out on our shit, and lead each other into temptation. But if one of us ever needs anything, we’re there. It’s a tough line to straddle, being your older brother’s pain in the ass and his best friend, but I like to think he’d miss me if I were gone.”
Growing up as an only child, I always yearned for siblings to share my experiences with. But now, as an adult struggling with my own demons, I can’t help but wonder if having brothers and sisters would have made me more well-adjusted or just added to the chaos.
Salvatore continues his tour, leading me into a closet in Dante’s office. “Our father had a dungeon built beneath the mansion. There’s also some catacombs quite a bit further down, but some of the tunnels were here before we arrived.” He shudders, and I can’t tell if it’s meant to make me feel at ease or if he’s genuinely scared. “It’s almost impossible to get down here without Dante or Enzo, but that’s by design. What’s down here might shock you. If you need to leave?—”
“I won’t,” I cut him off before he can finish. “I don’t know why the men in this family think I can’t handle a little blood and gore.”
His lips curve upwards in a patient smile as he holds out his hand and guides me down the narrow staircase. The temperature drops instantly, and I feel the coolness seeping into my skin as we descend deeper underground. “It isn’t just blood and gore, Adalina. There are people down here, people who were left to rot and decay because of their crimes. They are shells of their former selves. It can be a lot for the average person.”
I wish I were an average person, someone whose life was marred by breaking an arm at age six or getting mono in junior high. I wish I could say the worst thing that ever happened to me was failing a class and having to go to summer school. My reality was far more sinister—years of physical abuse from a violent parent, nights spent hiding beneath the covers in fear, and scars from self-harm decorating my skin. I am not an average person.
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure Salvatore. “If that changes, I’ll let you know.”
But as we descend into the depths of the dungeons, I am taken aback by the state of the men we encounter. Their eyes are vacant, sunken into their sockets, and lifeless. These men have been trapped in subterranean cells for so long that tattered clothes hang off their emaciated frames. Bare feet shuffle on the cold stone floor, their shoes long ago disintegrated. I shiver in the chilly air, but these men endure it daily without so much as a cardigan to shield them from the cold. Their imprisonment has reduced them to shells of their former selves, stripping away not only their freedom but their dignity and humanity.
“What did they do?” I whisper to Salvatore.
He shrugs his shoulders. “You should ask Dante. They were put down here during my father’s reign. I don’t know them or their crimes, frankly.”
Were there ever any missing person reports filed for them? Did they leave behind loved ones who long for their return?
But as we descend deeper into the musty dungeon, familiar faces emerge from the shadows. I recognize three of the men behind bars, my father’s guards, who were part of the home invasion. Their eyes widen with frantic energy as they catch sight of me, their muffled yells echoing off the stone walls.
“They have your father,” one says.
“They’re torturing us,” says another.
I take in his battered body, each bruise telling a story of violence etched into his skin. Purples and blues paint a map of agony across his face. Swollen contours distort his features, making him almost unrecognizable except for his eyes. He has raw, open wounds that glisten with a macabre sheen. He looks exactly like he did the night Dante nearly beat him to death.
My stitches have been removed, and Dr. Stone says the cast can come off in a week. If I’m healing, the rest of them should be. But I suspect he’s receiving daily beatings the same way I did once upon a time. “I hope they’re torturing you every day,” I reply, my words feeling hollow as they spill out of my mouth. “I hope this makes you realize what you put me through.”
Salvatore steers me away from the bars; I didn’t realize I was getting closer to them. “Take it easy, killer,” he chuckles.
We reach the end of the hall, where two rooms split the remaining space. “There’s living quarters that way,” Sal explains with a bob of his head to the right. “It’s a more comfortable dungeon space than the rest of them, with a real bed and toilet, but I’ve never seen it used before. I figure it’s for special guests.”
Who would be a special guest in a dungeon?
“That’s the torture room,” Salvatore nods to the left. “We don’t have to go in there if—oh, never mind.” I’m already on my way in.
My father is bound to a chair in the middle of the room, his wrists and ankles secured with thick ropes. Luciano, Enzo, and Dante loom over him, their menacing shadows cast against the stark, white walls of the underground dungeon. The floor is hard and devoid of color, reflecting the coolness in the air.
“Easy clean-up,” Salvatore explains when he notices me looking around. “It would be a bitch if we had to replace carpets after every session.”
Tommaso lets out a litany of curses in Italian, his voice hoarse and filled with anger. A thin stream of blood trickles from his scalp, staining his face with crimson streaks and pooling at the base of his neck. “Whatever this slut told you is a lie,” he says in English. Spit flies from his mouth with every word. “I’m a good man. I’ve been a good father. I’ve done no?—”
My scream cuts off his words, the sound ripping through the room. Startled, the four men standing around seem frozen in shock as I launch myself at Tommaso. The chair beneath us topples to the ground with a resounding crash. My fists fly at him in reckless abandon, each punch fueled by desperation and a burning desire for revenge.
“You ruined my fucking life!” I scream between blows. “You’re a monster.”
Who knows if the cast will still come off next week? My wrist stings as I rain blows down on Tommaso’s face. Dr. Stone isn’t going to be pleased.
Chapter 49
Dante
Salvatore lunges forward, his arms outstretched to grab Adalina by the waist and haul her off her father. But I am quicker, my hand reaching out to gently grasp his arm and hold him back. “This has to happen,” I explain as my lips tighten and my face scrunches into a pained expression. “Let her go.”