Page 56 of Ruthless Sinner
That’s why he locked me in this dungeon and hasn’t returned.
Dante loves me…
That’s why he’s trying to break his engagement with Lucrezia.
Dante loves me, not…
That’s why it’s been two days since Enzo told me what he was doing, and Dante never came to see me.
Each imaginary petal falls with a new reason why he loves me or not. The flower’s declarations are never consistent; it wavers between affirming his love and denying it. There is never a definitive answer; the outcome is always ambiguous.
The sound of footsteps muddles the newest flower, trampling the image in my head into the ground as someone enters the dungeon. The prisoners near the front, hardened by their time in captivity, remain silent in their cells. I hear them march past my father’s guards, ignoring their pleas and requests. They’re coming for me.
I twist my head off the bed to look toward the door. A moment later, Enzo appears. He puts a key in the lock and twists it. The door groans open, and his massive frame blocks the light from the hallway as he fills it with his size. “Come on, Adalina.”
As I swing my legs off the edge of the bed, every joint screams in protest; I feel a hundred years old. “Where are we going?”
He stands stoically by the entrance, his gaze fixed on a distant point. As I begin to stretch the soreness out of my bones, a sense of unease and anticipation creeps up my spine. Then, with a nod to Enzo, I follow him.
He doesn’t bother to restrain me with handcuffs or even glance back to make sure I’m following. He strides confidently through the dimly lit hallway, lined with small, cramped cells.
“Hey, bitch,” one of the guards calls to me, “where are you going? Gonna go fuck that Terlizzi cunt again?”
“We shoulda blown your head off when we had the chance,” another chimes in.
Before I can even open my mouth to speak, Enzo’s anger boils over, and he slams his fists against the iron bars of the man who spoke first. The metal reverberates with a deep, resounding clang, and his knuckles turn white from the force of the blow. The other inmates cower and shrink away from the display of raw strength and aggression. “Shut the fuck up before I unlock this cell and break every bone in your worthless body.”
The man’s face pales, the color draining from his cheeks as he steps back from the rusted metal cell door. His eyes widen in fear, and he nods frantically as if seeking forgiveness. He sinks onto the threadbare mattress, its thinness offering little relief from the cold concrete floor beneath.
“Let’s go,” Enzo growls at me, his eyes still narrowed at the prisoner.
I follow him with a smug smile on my face, poking my tongue out as we pass the other imprisoned guards. I don’t care where Enzo is taking me anymore; I’m just happy he put my father’s guards in their place.
At the top of the stairs, Enzo leads me into Dante’s office. The crisp, invigorating scent of fresh air and rich leather hit me like a Mac truck. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the intoxicating blend. The sunlight filtering through the windows casts warm streams of light across the room, causing tears of joy to prickle at the corners of my eyes. How long has it been since I saw the sun?
And finally, I see Dante standing in front of a full-length mirror, his reflection gazing back at him with scrutiny. He fusses over the fabric of his shirt, meticulously smoothing out every crease and imperfection. He’s dressed in a simple but stylish ensemble of fitted jeans and crisp white sneakers, a contrast to his usual polished appearance. “How does this look?” He turns and looks at Enzo.
Enzo rolls his eyes. “You look fine, boss.”
Dante nods his head. “Good. Let’s get a move on. We’ve got to be at the hospital at 8:00.”
I allow them to escort me from the office, through the house, and into the dimly lit garage. The scent of fresh pine hangs in the air as we reach the car, its sleek exterior gleaming in the golden glow of morning. My stomach lets out a loud gurgle as I climb into the backseat, followed quickly by Dante, who buckles himself in beside me. Enzo climbs into the driver’s seat and turns on the car, revving the engine before pulling out and directing us to the main road.
The silence continues for a couple of miles before I can’t stand it anymore. “Where are we going?” I ask.
Dante frowns for a moment before he makes a clicking sound with his tongue. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I? It’s been a busy few days.” But he doesn’t apologize. “Dr. Stone said he could get you in this morning for surgery. Something about pins and rods in your wrist.” Dante’s hand stretches forward to grab my arm, and I flinch, startled by the sudden contact. He examines the brace Silas gave me before he left a couple of days ago, complete with a tightly bound wrap beneath it. “He said the trauma from beating your father caused the bone to heal incorrectly. I’m not entirely sure. I was on the phone with the florist when he was trying to explain it to me. That’s my fault.”
I have a hundred questions. “Why were you on the phone with a florist?” But I ask the most outlandish one first.
He gently cradles my wrist in his hands, his touch sending a faint throbbing sensation through my injured wrist. It’s been constantly aching since the doctor removed the cast. I try to ignore the discomfort as Dante carefully examines my injury, his fingers tracing over the faint scars and bruises. “I needed to reserve her services for the wedding. Autumn is a busy season for Steve’s Floral, so I had to get on Kate’s schedule.”
My questions have multiplied. I feel like I stepped into the middle of a conversation, and I’m trying to play catch up. “Whose wedding? Yours and your fiancé’s? Who’s Kate?”
“Kate runs Steve’s Floral.” Dante’s warm hand encircles mine; his gaze fixated on the purplish-blue marks that spread outward from the base of my thumb.
“Why is it called Steve’s Floral if Kate runs it?” This whole conversation is absurd, and I still don’t know who’s getting married.
“Steve died a handful of years ago. Five? Ten?” He asks Enzo with a frown. “Do you remember when Steve passed?”