Page 5 of Ruthless

Dragging a shaky breath in through my nose, I relay the news to Luca.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. What happens if they say no?”

“They won’t.”

I pray I’m not lying. Because at this point, I’m not sure I could turn back, regardless of what the Council says.

And no one disobeys the Council without paying the price.

When I enter the restaurant, a burly man in a tasteful black suit that doesn’t hide his gun motions for me to follow him. The interior is dimly lit by flickering candles and the occasional chandelier, and the clinking forks and hushed voices of diners trail us as the guard leads me past the tables and down a hallway. A right turn brings us to an ornate wooden door.

The guard gestures at the holster beneath my bespoke suit jacket. “Leave any weapons with me.”

Already accustomed to the protocol, I hand over my gun without fuss. The Council takes their security very seriously.

The man pockets my weapon. “Raise your arms.”

I do as he commands and let him frisk me. Once he finishes, he rises and knocks on the door twice before pushing it open. Then he sweeps his arm, indicating I can enter.

When I do, the door slams shut behind me, casting me into a murky gloom.

As my eyes adjust, a disembodied, robotic voice speaks.

“You may approach.”

After I blink a few times, my surroundings sharpen enough to reveal a massive mahogany table. Embedded lights emit an eerie red glow that spills into the room like a sea of luminescent blood.

Seven black-clad figures preside over the table. All of them wear grotesque commedia dell’arte masks, each one representing a stage of the Italian Renaissance.

A little too on the nose for the people who secretly rule over the mafia, if you ask me.

The overall effect is straight out of a hellscape. Like a nightmare from a Guillermo del Toro horror flick.

Which is exactly what the Council strives for with this theatrical setup.

My shoulders tighten as I stride forward. Figures lurk in the shadows along the back wall, white masks covering their faces. The Council’s soldiers. Like their masters, no one knows their identity outside of the Councilmen. The soldiers carry out the Council’s will, dirtying their hands so the Councilors don’t have to.

A warning me that if I become difficult, they’ll put me down like a rabid dog.

I drag my tongue across my teeth and reach for the single straight-backed chair opposite the middle of the Council’s table. As soon as my ass hits the hard wooden seat, someone yanks my hair back from behind.

A cold blade presses against the front of my throat.

My body quivers with the urge to subdue the threat, but I stave off the impulse. If I attack one of the Council’s little worker bees during an official meeting, I may as well save him the trouble and slit open my own carotid artery.

When I swallow, a sharp sting penetrates my skin. A shallow cut, just deep enough to bleed.

I lean into the pain. Startled, my assailant curses and pulls the knife back a few inches.

Arlecchino’s red-and-black mask features an exaggerated, almost feral smile. The cheeks bulge, and the eyes squint into sinister crescents. “Tell us, Argento, do you think of us Councilors as lapdogs that serve at your whim? You must, to summon us like this.”

Luca was right. Seems like demanding an immediate audience pissed a few people off.

“Of course not, and you have my deepest apologies for the late timing of my request. I would never presume to give orders to the Council. I’m afraid I let my excitement over the idea of enacting vengeance get the better of me.”

I force myself to remain relaxed. While the Council expects deference from those they rule over, I refuse to show fear. If they hoped their little display of aggression would leave me quaking and pleading for mercy, they can fuck right off.

During all those hellish months I spent in captivity, I never once begged, so I sure as shit don’t plan to beg these masked fuckfaces for mercy now.