Page 32 of Ruthless

“Dante.” Gio scowls, frustrated with having to demand my attention, and I reach for my champagne flute before swallowing down my father’s expensive imported Krug Clos d’Ambonnay to bring me back to the here and now.

Setting the glass back down with aclinkon the iron table, I clear my throat. “Sorry, I missed that. What were you saying?”

Marco smirks at me from across the table before downing his own bubbly in two gulps. The fucker knows exactly where my head is and for a sweet, brief moment, I imagine launching myself across the table and beating the shit out of him. The look on my face must communicate that urge. In the next heartbeat, his ridiculous expression falls as he reaches for a refill.

Papà shakes his head, exhaustion sapping the strength from him and causing his frown to die slowly. “It’s not important.” He stares at his hands. “I visited your mother yesterday.”

My stomach tightens at the mention of her, and I push my plate aside. “Oh?”

This is nothing new. Giovanni visits our family crypt at Trinity Church in Uptown once a week like clockwork. It would honestly be stranger if hedidn’tgo. A visit is always accompanied by the same request.

“You should come with me next time.”

Why? So I can watch you hover over her grave like a wraith?

Ashamed by the thought, I’m grateful—not for the first time—that Sara betrayed me before I could become just like my father. I give the same answer I always do, even though we both know I don’t mean it.

“Yes, sir.”

He dips his chin, content to let the topic drop. Maybe he realizes the pointlessness of dragging it out. We discuss SilverTech for a few minutes and then shift into Marco’s Swarmer profits before the conversation fizzles into thicksilence. Giovanni leans back in his chair. Despite our empty plates, none of us get to our feet just yet.

Papà wipes the edge of his face with his napkin before setting it aside. “What aren’t you telling me?”

I eye my father as I mull over my response. “I think there’s a mole in the garden.”

Outwardly, Marco and Giovanni don’t react, but their eyes sharpen in a way that hints at the violence we all understand too well. This is the real business we came to discuss, and the gentle, upper-crust widower and his sons vanish as though we never existed.

“You sure?”

I don’t have to say anything. My silence speaks volumes. The Council knows I saw Sara at the hospital before I even walked in the room, and no matter what Luca and I do, the Ghost always stays three steps ahead of us. Luca’s the best tracker in the business. No one outmaneuvers him unless they know he’s coming.

On top of that, I suspect that this same rat also told my captors where to find Sara five years ago. There are just too many synchronicities, too many ducks falling into a perfect row for it not to be true. Someone’s been watching me this entire time and selling intel to the highest bidder. Why, I have no idea, but I plan on obtaining that information, even if it means breaking every bone in their body before I kill them. Once I find them, that is.

“I need to hunt it down before it burrows into a hole.” I tap my fingers on the table, too agitated to sit still. “It might get messy.”

Giovanni nods shortly, his lips tight with displeasure. “Do what you need to do.”

“Yes, sir.” When I say it this time, I’m grinning.

Sara sits in the passenger seat of my car, the leather creaking as she shifts. Biting at her bottom lip, she runs her palms down the material covering her thighs. “Do I have to?” Her small, unsure voice does something vicious to my patience.

“Get out.”

Every Sunday, there’s a Grand Bazaar held in Manhattan. Hundreds of vendors line the street, their colorful banners waving in the air as thousands of people shop for everything from antiques to jewelry to paintings and books. Food trucks populate every corner, and the air is thick with the smell of chili dogs and funnel cake. Every culture in the world crammed into five city blocks is about as New York as it gets.

When I returned from my father’s, the first thing I did was force Sara into another revealing outfit I bought prior to her arrival.

A small part of me misses the way she once dressed in understated skirts and flowing dresses, but this isn’t about my clothing preferences. It’s about wearing her down, and the skintight dandelion yellow jumpsuit that cups the V between her legs so sweetly doesjustthat. The color clashes with her honey blond hair and renders her pale skin even more translucent.

She looks tacky. Cheap. No one would confuse her with the sweet, sinless ER nurse from Mount Dinaric West. I’ve attached a delicate pearl-studded leash to her collar. It’s not strong enough to stop her from running if she decides to, but that’s not the point. The point is to remind her that she’s nothing more than my plaything, a shiny toy at the end of a rope. She touches the length of it with wide eyes and a face already reddening with humiliation.

When I went down to the basement to fasten it to her collar, Sara had peered at the tether in doubt, running her fingers down the baubles.“What happens if it breaks?”

I pulled the leash until it tightened against her dainty throat. I felt my cock twitch as she struggled to swallow against the pressure.“I break you.”

With her quick obedience, I didn’t need to elaborate. Her easy acquiescence should spark my suspicion, but I don’t have the mental bandwidth to care.

The leash and collar are more for my sake than hers, anyway. At the Paradiso, she had entirely too much freedom. First, she slipped away from me at the elevator, and then in the private booth when her rolling hips almost caused me to forget which one of us was in charge. Now that she’s under better control, it won’t happen again.