Page 52 of Ruthless Sinner
“You said Castiglione wouldn’t kill you,” Enzo glares. “This is bullshit, and you know it.”
“I’m preparing for every eventuality.” Saverio won’t kill me. Probably. Maybe…
Enzo wears out a track on the carpet. Note to self: invest in marble flooring. “I can’t work for your brothers. I like them, but they aren’t you. Respectfully,” he pauses for a minute, “you’re the only Terlizzi I like.”
A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips. Once upon a time, my brothers told me I was too severe. I have made the family business my life, and Salvatore likes to bust my balls about it. He says I never have any fun. But the joke’s on him: my best friend thinks I’m the best of the Terlizzis. “And you’re the only person I can trust with Adalina. If something happens to me?—”
“You said nothing would happen,” Enzo cuts me off before returning to pacing.
“But if it does,” my voice rises as I interrupt him, “I don’t know what Salvatore or Luciano would do with Adalina. They may let her go; they may kill her. I need someone to look after her best interests.”
It’s tough to argue with logic, but Enzo does the best he can. “Your brothers aren’t going to listen to me. Besides, if I were with you, the likelihood of something happening would dramatically reduce.”
That’s a possibility. I can’t say that Saverio would be less likely to put a bullet between my eyes if Enzo were there, but it’s more probable than if Enzo isn’t there. “I can’t take that chance with Adalina’s safety. You know where I keep a stash of ransom money. If Sal and Luc decide they want to kill Adalina, give it all to her.”
The ransom stash has been growing for years, since before it belonged to me. My father instilled in me the importance of always having cash on hand in case I am ever kidnapped by a rival family. The money won’t stop someone who’s determined to see me dead, but if there’s any hesitation, it might keep me alive long enough for help to arrive.
“Your brothers will be pissed if I give Adalina the ransom cash.”
I twist away from the mirror in the corner of the room and pin Enzo with a glare. “I don’t care. Take some for yourself, and get the hell out of here, too. This isn’t up for debate, En. I can’t risk Adalina’s life on the hope that my brothers will be kind, decent human beings. They are those things,” I sigh, “but I can’t hang my hat on it. I have to prepare for the worst, that Salvatore and Luciano will slit Adalina’s throat in the middle of the night because it’ll be easier than dealing with her.” Just saying those words aloud makes my heart contract with fear.
Enzo’s shoulders slump as he reluctantly accepts his role as Adalina’s caretaker in the event of my death. It isn’t what he would have chosen for himself, but it’s a necessary evil. He knows how to get into the dungeon; he can save Adalina if he has to.
“Silas will be by shortly.”
“I know,” Enzo grumbles. “Make sure he looks at Adalina’s arm,” he repeats the only item on his to-do list.
My expression softens as I turn to face Enzo. We’ve stood side by side for years, entering fights and combat arm-in-arm. This is the first time I’ve chosen someone else over him, and it’s my brothers. Enzo can’t be angry because our culture values family and blood over friendship. But he is more to me than a bodyguard or someone I’ve stayed up drinking with until two a.m. Enzo Castelli is my best friend. He’s seen me through bad times and good. Deep down, he knows who I am, and my darkness doesn’t scare him. “When I come back, because I am coming back, I want to make you my consigliere.”
Enzo’s steps come to a sudden halt in the middle of the room, shock frozen on his face. “Dante, I couldn’t?—”
I raise my hand, palm out, signaling for him to stop talking. “You can, and you will. I can get another bodyguard, but I can’t replace you. You are my level head. You’re the person that keeps me sane.”
“I can’t even get you to rethink this meeting with Castiglione,” he snorts.
“That’s because it has to happen,” I reply with a wistful smile. It’s a bittersweet truth that hangs heavily between us: no matter what I want to do, I have to sit down with Saverio and hash out the future he’s planned for his sister and me. “I wish you could talk me out of it, but it has to happen. I have to rid myself of Lucrezia. I can’t marry her.”
Enzo’s perceptive ears catch the depth of my worries, but he doesn’t offer empty reassurances. He knows his place in my life better than anyone I’ve ever met; he knows when to speak and when to keep his mouth shut. “You go do what you need to do, and I’ll hold down the fort. But God help you if you die.” He shakes his head, weariness appearing in the lines of his face. “If I have to come to hell to kill you all over again because you left me with your dumbass brothers, I will.”
He’s the only one who could ever get away with insulting my brothers, and it’s because he’s practically one of them himself. Maybe not by blood, but in all the ways that truly count.
Chapter 55
Adalina
Istopped counting meals somewhere around twelve or fifteen. It was boredom at first that made me count; then it was desperation. Counting the number of meals I received made me believe I had some semblance of control over my situation. But after a few days, I realized I didn’t have control over anything.
My only source of entertainment in this dull and lifeless place is the daily conversations between my father’s former bodyguards. I often find myself teasing and provoking them, but even their reactions are starting to grow stale and repetitive.
The sound of a metal key sliding into the rusted lock is followed by a loud click, and someone’s gruff voice breaks the eerie silence of my cell. “Get up, Adalina.”
I hastily leap out of bed to greet my visitors. As I run my fingers through my tangled hair in a futile attempt to tame the unruly locks, my hands get caught in knots. “Enzo,” I breathe a sigh of relief when he walks through the door. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Frankly, anyone besides the guy who drops off my daily meals would be a welcome sight. Hell, even my dead father’s ghost would be a refreshing change of pace.
Enzo is followed by the familiar face of Silas Stone, the doctor who treated us a few weeks back after my father’s attempted home invasion. His eyes bounce from my still bandaged wrist to the conditions I’m being housed in. If he has an opinion, he’s paid to keep it to himself, but I can see disgust growing in his wrinkle lines. “Good afternoon, Adalina.”
It’s afternoon. This is the first time since I was locked up that I’ve known the time of day. “Doctor,” I nod.