Page 54 of Ruthless

Chapter 20

Sara

Dante’s lips part, and his blatant shock is almost worth the pain…as well as my impending death at his hands. I spent the last few hours spectating as he tore apart another human being, so I understand that I just signed my soul away.

I lift my chin higher, my resolve unwavering. His jaw snaps shut, and I only get a few seconds to study how the muscles in his shoulders bunch before he grabs my hand and jerks me closer.

I choke down my scream and refuse to look away.

If he plans to kill me, then he can watch the life drain from the eyes of the woman who loved him like he was her whole world.

Dante’s body tenses like a too-tight spring, and a frustrated rumble escapes him. He rakes a hand through his hair, streaking the strands with gore.

“Have you lost your damn mind?” As he shakes the pliers at me, I recoil from the blood and saliva coating the prongs. “What good does takinghisplace do? You don’t have the information I need.”

He blinks repeatedly, almost as if he just woke up from a nightmare. I need to keep him here with me. If I lose him to thatdead-eyed monster again, I fear I won’t be able to bring him back.

“So?” Seizing the pliers, I let them drop to the ground. “If the last few minutes are anything to go by, you don’t really give a shit about extracting answers. You just want to hurt somebody. So hurt me.”

Fear swirls in my gut, forcing me to dig deep for courage. Dante’s violence seems incited by instinct rather than true malice. Maybe if I can redirect him from the intended target, I stand a chance of saving them both. “If he was going to talk, he would have done so already.”

Over the last two hours, it’s become increasingly obvious that pain won’t motivate someone conditioned to withstand torture. Especially when Dante clearly prefers inflicting damage over getting into his captive’s head. The irony that his approach bears similarities to mine isn’t lost on me.

We both need to try something else.

As a nurse, I’ve dealt with people experiencing every type of pain imaginable, so while Dante’s wounds may be invisible, I can tell that internally, he’s bleeding out. Considering he’s more open wound than man, Ican’tleave him to his own devices.

Between the time when we broke up five years ago and now, something hurt him. An experience so terrible that it fundamentally rewrote his DNA. And even if I don’t fully comprehend what happened and played no role in that event, he clearly believes otherwise. With that being the case, his hatred for me isn’t difficult to understand. The more I ponder, the more I wonder if the same men who terrorized us and drove us from the city lied to Dante about my involvement in the events that changed him?

Either way, if extracting information from the stranger in the chair will aid Dante, then that’s what I plan to do.

My breath hitches when I find the prisoner’s one good eye trained on me. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you anymore.”

Dante goes unnaturally still. Hostility seeps into the air, but before he can say anything, the door opens. Luca appears in the threshold. I wonder if Dante even notices how he positions himself between us like a shield.

“Anything the matter?” When Luca’s focus shifts from the prisoner to me, his features harden. Somehow, I definitely earned a top spot on his shit list.

Dante jerks his head. “No. Just a change of plans. Take him away.”

Prowling over on surprisingly quiet feet for such a big man, Luca unlocks the man’s chains. The prisoner’s legs buckle, compelling Luca to practically drag him away. At the doorway, the prisoner manages to crane his head and pin me with imploring eyes.

I swallow hard. “We’ll talk later.”

The door shuts behind Luca with an unnaturally loud click. In the next heartbeat, Dante shoves his furious face in front of mine and holds a balled fist by my jaw. “There won’tbea later.”

Dante’s whole arm quakes. The war waging in his deep gaze shatters what’s left of my reservations.

I can try to cut him out of my heart, but I’m fighting a losing battle. This man has owned the other half of my soul since the very first night we met. “It’s okay.”

Despite being half-convinced he’ll lash out before I can pull him back from the brink, I curl my fingers around his fist. The moment my fingertips brush his knuckles, he flinches as if burned. That fearful expression from his bedroom camera resurfaces, and fierce protectiveness surges beneath my sternum.

“What happened five years ago,cucciolo?”

Recognition flares on his face, and I can almost see the memory reel play out in his mind.

“Cucciolo? Don’t call me that.”

Dante snatched the cell phone I was using to search for Italian terms out of my hands.