Page 47 of Ruthless

“You want a…lamp or something?” I can tell he’s choosing his words with great care, and I wish I could see his expression better so I could try to read what’s really behind this unexpected kindness. “I know it gets pitch-black in here when the automatic lights go off. If the dark bothers you, I can have Gregor bring in an extra one from one of the guest rooms.”

I’ve never seen Dante feign indifference before, but his current attempt is so obvious that I can’t help but smile. “I’m fine. Thanks, though.” I clear my throat. “Extra showers would be appreciated.”

Dante has the good grace to grimace. “I’ll see to it. Between Gregor and Angela, that shouldn’t pose a problem.”

“I don’t know if kidnappers get raises, but Gregor’s definitely earned one. You should get on that before he finds out he’s being underpaid and goes to work for another mafia psychopath.”

Realizing what I just blurted, I snap my mouth shut.

Way to go, Sara. Piss the man off the second he offers you more bathroom privileges.

Dante regards me from the corner of his eye, his lips quirking in an almost-smile, and I release an invisible breath, grateful he didn’t find my jest offensive. “It sounds like you’re telling me how to run my own operation.”

I shrug, faking my own nonchalance. “Not gonna lie. Ididhave some ideas about a referral program I wanted to run past you.”

His laugh rings out, briefly creating the illusion that we’re a normal couple.

Were we ever actuallynormal?

An aggressive vibration quivers the bed beneath us, and Dante’s almost-smile disappears. He yanks his cell out of his back pocket, his expression growing thunderous as he reads the message. “Cazzo.”

Riding off the lighthearted exchange we just shared, I lay a hand on his arm, praying he won’t shut down on me again. “What is it?”

He meets my question with stony silence, and I feel the familiar tendrils of disappointment beginning to take hold before he blows out a harsh breath. “You remember the guyI was following the other day?” As I nod, his hand tightens around his cell. “I’m, uh…looking for someone, and the guy at the Bazaar was my last lead. He’s dead now.”

Before I can reply, Dante stuns me by shifting onto the bed, kicking his feet onto the mattress, and plopping his head in my lap with a weary groan.

I stiffen from the unexpected display of affection. This is the most he’s endeared himself to me since my captivity began, and I find myself craving more of these moments, of the simple tenderness we used to share.

As Dante goes on, oblivious to my shock, I force my muscles to lose their tension, schooling my expression into a neutral one. “On top of that, a mole is sniffing around, and my men have no idea where to find it or what it’s after.”

I hum in response. This is perfectly normal. Just a girl’s ex-lover slash kidnapper slash mafia boss confiding his troubles. Nothing to see here. “Well, I may not know much about the mob, but I do know that you catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.”

Dante’s eyes flash open, and he glowers up at me. “What the hell does that mean?”

Emboldened by the fact that he didn’t dismiss me outright, I sift my fingers through his hair. It’s soft and so long that I expect he’ll cut it soon. “Easy. If there are more leads out there, you’re probably scaring them away. Lie low for a bit, then when you find your next one, try to be more…empathetic. Once you learn what it is people want, you can offer it to them in exchange for what you want to know.”

Abruptly, Dante rises, the loss of his weight in my lap a tangible thing. He looks down at me in exasperation, his hand cutting through the air like a knife. “The men I’m hunting betrayed me. As far as I’m concerned, empathy doesn’t exist for them.”

Betrayal.

If he feels like this about the others, then what are his true feelings toward me? Because he still believes I betrayed him as well, even though I’m no closer to understanding why. Somewhere, somehow, we experienced some catastrophic miscommunication…but even that’s not enough to explain his anger. I almost wonder if someone intentionally misled us to tear us apart, but if so, for what purpose?

Dante stalks from the room without a backward glance. As the cell door shuts behind him, I curse myself for a fool.

Angela appears a while later with lunch, a turkey club stacked high with bacon and avocado, along with instructions to email Jeremy again. I let him know that they extended my time at the other hospital so I’ll be gone longer. He emails me back right away, but Angela won’t let me read his response before she shuts the laptop.

“Time limit, babes.” It’s like a bucket of icy water, reminding me that I’m still a captive. Still at the mercy of Dante’s whims. Still imprisoned away from my brother, my home, my job. Still nothing but a pawn in Dante’s twisted game.

Whatever Angela recognizes on my face is enough to stop her from locking me back in my cell. Instead, she leans against the steel doorframe, her manicured brows pulled into a frown. “What’s that look for?”

I fiddle with the crust of my sandwich, tearing off a corner before letting it fall to the plate. It feels strange to confide in Angela now, given the circumstances, but who else can I share girl-talk with? I don’t think Gregor could offer any sound advice.

I nibble my lip. “It’s…Dante. I can’t get a read on him. One minute, things almost seem like they used to, and then, like the flip of a switch, he does a one-eighty into…whatever he is now.” I shrug hopelessly. “I thought I could help him find his old self again, to make him realize that who he’s become isn’t the real version of him, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

Angela peers at the laptop cradled against her chest before lifting her chin and grimacing. I recognize her expression from the time a patient came in with a wedding ring stuck on his penis. “I don’t know what’s left of his old self to bring back, Sara. I mean, I didn’t know him back then, but I know him now.” My blood heats at the sight of her sympathetic expression. “Sorry, girl. I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

I bite back a vehement refusal because she’s right. Angeladidn’tknow Dante back then. She only knowsthisversion of the man who once stole my heart. The man who continues to claim my heart, despite how he shattered it into tiny pieces. I manage a small smile before she turns to go, engages the lock on my cell, and abandons me to my thoughts.