Page 50 of Ruthless

But without this rage, this hate, I have no idea who I am anymore.

A heavy silence descends between us.

At some point, I willfind the Ghost, and once he’s dead and the destruction ends, no one will be left to punish. No battle to win. I always assumed Sara would be either dead or at least ruined by then, but…what if she’s not?

What if I…forgave her?

I scowl into my wine glass. The man who met and fell in love with Sara no longer exists. Even if I relinquished my thirst for vengeance, Sara and I could never return to the past. The Dante who emerged from the ashes of his shattered life is a man she could never love.

I hate that thought a little too much. Most of all, I hate feeling like a lovesick puppy over a woman who sold me out.

That single fact pulls the pin on the grenade of my fury, and I welcome the emotion like an old friend. Sara doesn’t deserve my forgiveness. The second I let myself trust her again, she’ll stab me in the back. That’s just who she is.

I smooth my napkin in my lap and cock my head. “You know what I appreciate the most about you?”

Sara pales as she examines my expression. Licking her lips, she slowly sets down her glass. “Whatever you’re doing, please don’t.”

Ignoring her, I pour us both refills. “How considerate you are. After all, you taught me what love truly means.”

I speak loudly enough for the other tables to overhear, and bit by bit, the room quiets. As I fish the ring box out of my pocket, a woman across from us gasps and grasps her companion’s arm. “I know that I’ll never find a woman as loyal and honestand real as you are. I want you to be mine…forever.”

Amid the excited murmurs, Sarah’s chin trembles. Only she can sense the mockery in my voice, along with the dark intonation onforever. I expect tears, so she surprises me by curling her hands into fists, her blue eyes sparking like a lightning storm.

When I falter, Sara plucks the fake diamond ring from the box herself. She slips it onto her own finger while holding my gaze.

“How could I refuse such a heartfelt proposal from such a loyal man?”

Over all the clapping and cheering, I can’t tell for sure if her voice breaks. In keeping with the ruse, I rise and round the table to place the softest of kisses against her waiting mouth.

The contact crackles through me like I’m gripping a live wire with both hands, shocking me with pure heat and instant regret.

But I had no choice. Sara’s humiliation is the only reason the Council approved my request to bring her to a nice restaurant. Otherwise, they’d lose their minds.

Sara hooks her arm around my neck and leans back far enough to reveal her venomous smile. To our audience, she’s anecstatic bride-to-be. But to me, she’s a woman finally pushed over the brink.

“Complimenti, Signor Argento.” Poison drips from her words, and shock that she remembers any of the language I taught her roars through me. Her sharp nails in my jaw drive home the message that she’s done playing timid. “You’ve finally destroyed every good memory I’ve ever had of you.” With her free hand, she hoists her wine glass in a toast to the room at large. “Bravi!”

Sara tosses back the rest of her wine in one go at the cries of “Brava!”and “Tanta felicità!”

That’s when I know I’m in trouble.

Because if I once loved the gentle and untried version of Sara, then this woman—one full of teeth and bite and grit—just might destroy me.

Chapter 18

Sara

When I wake up the next morning to find that I’m still wearing the ring, my anger immediately resurfaces.

The certifiable jackass.

That conceited asshole.

The little sleep I managed last night was filled with dreams of walking down the aisle and babies with chocolate brown hair and eyes as deep as wishing wells. I call them dreams, but considering the circumstances, maybe nightmares are more accurate. I tear through my prison, snatching up all the items he’s given me over the last few weeks. The comforter, the clothes folded neatly in a corner, the collar, the fucking pearl-lined leash.

I toss everything at the cell door, but that’s not good enough. Shouldn’t Gregor or even Angela have stopped by with breakfast by now? I want this stuff out of here. I march over to the door, prepared to shout until my yowling summons Gregor.

The second my fingers graze the handle, the cell door creaks open, and my protests die in my throat with a squeak.