Page 60 of Ruthless

Too curious, sometimes, for my own good.

I knew my mother was adopted as a baby, brought into the family after the death of a Conti right-hand man, and raised alongside the Conti brothers and heirs, Enzo and Aldo. That history was never a secret. Not like her family. Anytime Marco or I would ask about Nonno or Nonna on our mother’s side, the questions were swiftly redirected.

Eventually we stopped asking, but I never stopped wondering.

Sometimes, when I had a nightmare, I would pad down the hall to my parents’ room. My father, who could sleep through an EF5 tornado, would snore like a buzz saw, but my mother was often awake, her bedside lamp casting a warm glow over her favorite green silk robe. A book frequently sat in her lap. An old leather-bound thing with yellowing, crinkled pages filled with handwritten notes and drawings.

I would watch Mamma thumb through it with sad eyes. If she ever glimpsed me at the door, she’d squirrel the book away and open her arms to soothe my terrors.

Of course, I grew curious about this mysterious book, so one day, after my mother left for an appointment, I snuck into her bedroom. The book, stuffed under her pillow as if she couldn’t bear to be separated from it, wasn’t difficult to locate. When I opened the cover, the first thing I saw was a photo. Even with creased edges and faded color, I recognized my mother’s smile in the old, glossy snapshot.

With Coney Island as a backdrop, she stood between two young men. One was broad-shouldered, muscled, and clean-shaven. His cruel smile was a stark contrast to Mamma’s. On her other side hovered a taller man with unkempt dark hair curling around his shoulders, his lips pressed into a flat line like he never smiled.

A traditional-style dragon tattoo covered his forearm, ending just above a hand missing three fingers.

Those men were her brothers, Aldo and Enzo Conti.

I knew better than to ask why she always looked at the photo when she thought no one was watching, to ask if she missed her brothers and other relatives. I loved my mother deeply and didn’t want to make her eyes even sadder than they already were when she held that book.

But one night, long after Mamma tucked me into bed, I heard soft, muffled crying coming from the kitchen. I crept downstairs to the darkened hallway and eavesdropped on my father speaking in that gentle tone he reserved just for her.

He told her Enzo Conti had died.

After abandoning the Contis to marry an Argento, my mother lost touch with her brothers, but I could tell by her voice that the news of his death devastated her.

Not long after that, someone murdered my mother, squashing any lingering questions I had about my would-be uncle under the weight of our personal tragedy and Papà’s withdrawal.

And now, to learn the Ghost was Enzo Conti the whole time? My mother’s kin?

I want to tear the world apart, smash my hand through a fucking wall,anythingto expel the hatred strangling my throat. But no matter how much rage courses through my system, I’ve got to keep my head on straight.

If Enzo didn’t actually die while I was still in grade school, then where has he been all these years? What coaxed him out of hiding to kidnap and torture me? And why would he do that to his own nephew?

I’m heading toward the clinic when someone knocks on the doorway.

“I was just coming to look for you. The patient you transferred to us had some internal bleeding we didn’t catch in time. We tried a transfusion, but he didn’t make it.”

I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts that I don’t bother looking up. He mentions a few of the life-saving efforts used as if he memorized a list, but I tune him out. I don’t care about the details. Jackson already gave me what I needed most. A name.

Now I just have to get my hands on Enzo fucking Conti.

I check my calendar and grin when I spot the event listed on today’s date. The universe must be smiling upon me, because nothing else explains this stroke of good luck.

Time for Plan B.

I stalk the corridors until I find Luca outside the door leading to his quarters. His hair is damp, and he’s wearing a fresh shirt. Probably got too much blood on the old one. A regrettable hazard of torture.

“What’s up, Boss?”

“Get Trent on the phone. I have an idea.”

Every year, the Contis host a benefit at the Cosmopolitan Museum of Art, the largest gallery in a city that attracts patrons from all over the world. The gala is black-tie and formal. More importantly, it’s invite-only. Considering the feud between our families still runs strong, no Argento would ever snag a spot on that guest list.

Fortunately for me, one of my SilverTech employees, Trent—a twenty-two-year-old skater with purple tips—is a hell of a hacker.

An hour after Luca calls, Sara’s name is on the guest list.

Chapter 24