Page 61 of Ruthless

Sara

The Cosmopolitan’s main gallery features a cavernous hall, marble floors, and massive columns stationed every dozen feet or so. Recessed spotlights showcase the priceless works of art tucked behind glass cases. Above, the high glass ceiling catches a rainbow of laser lights that dance across it like colorful stars.

I tug at the strap of my sleek, slate gray evening gown. Much earlier, Gregor surprised me by unlocking my cell and leading me to a tasteful guest bathroom on the fifth level, instructing me to shower and get dressed for a formal event. I won’t lie…I probably spent close to an hour under the hot water, washing my hair, scrubbing and shaving my body, and then just relaxing as the jets beat a soothing pattern into my skin. By the time I re-emerged from the spacious, green-tiled enclosure, my skin resembled a wizened old man’s.

I barely had time to wrap a towel around myself before someone started banging on the door. When I cracked it open, Luca stuck his boot into the gap and pushed, forcing me to stumble back.

“Here.” He shoved a garment bag and two shopping totes into my hands. “Next time you decide to drain the entire metro area of water, I’m coming inside whether you’re finished or not.I have better things to do than wait around with my thumb up my ass while you play pretend spa day.”

If scowls were rated on a scale of one to ten, his expression was a solid fifteen. Any fiercer, and I’d worry he’d harness his dour mood to disintegrate me on the spot. “If Dante named his men after the Disney characters, you would definitely be Grumpy.” And yup, his scowl score ratcheted up to a seventeen. “Not a Snow White fan?”

“No, but I’m starting to relate to the evil queen, because cutting a woman’s heart out sounds better every second.”

Despite the implied threat, my lips twitched. With a glare and a noise containing some unholy hybrid of annoyance and disgust, he spun and stalked away, muttering about not having the time to help prisoners play “motherfucking dress-up.”

“Thank you!” Convinced I was starting to grow on him, I called out my appreciation.

Inside the bags, I found a matching purse and heels, an assortment of luxury-brand makeup, hair styling accessories, and the evening gown I’m currently wearing. Everything high-end and designer.

I adjust the neckline again. This beautiful gown fits like a dream, but the damn neckline plunges more than I’m used to. I wonder if that feature was intentional and meant as some sort of built-in distraction technique. If so, congrats to whoever picked out the dress, because countless attendees seem oblivious that my body doesn’t stop at my armpits.

My pulse beats a little too quickly as I stride with faux confidence toward a table bearing champagne in crystal flutes. Downing half a glass in one go, I abandon the table and start weaving through the clusters of the rich and beautiful. The men are clad in classic tuxes, and the women flaunt elegant, floor-length gowns in a palette of colors. Gems drip from their necksand ears, and every single one of the ladies makes me feel like the imposter I am.

Why did I agree to this again? Oh, that’s right. Dante crooked his little finger and asked. I must be a glutton for punishment.

Just as I go to steal another sip of my drink, my right ear crackles, startling me. I inhale the liquid and promptly fall into a coughing fit.

Very stealthy.

I tune out another burst of interference while my earpiece searches for a stronger signal. “Nod if you hear me.”

Awareness prickles over my skin as I dip my chin. Dante’s posing as a member of the catering crew and tracking my every move. He can talk to me, but I can’t speak to him. The earpiece is smaller than the ones in spy movies and fits on the tip of my pinkie finger.

Since Dante is persona non grata at this Conti-sponsored event, I’m tasked with coaxing a looser-lipped family member into spilling the beans on long-lost Enzo. Only, I don’t recognize any of these people, which is where Dante comes in.

In disguise. Apparently, his mug is too distinctive for him to saunter in without modifications.

As I’m mulling over those details, an older gentleman in an ill-fitting navy suit approaches. “Why, hello, my dear. Aren’t you looking lovely tonight?”

He bows and presses his lips to my knuckles in a throwback to a previous century, and my eyes widen like a deer in the headlights.

“Bernardo Rossi,” Dante whispers in my ear. “Took over as CEO of Rossi’s Candies after he killed his brother. He’s ambitious but otherwise harmless so long as you don’t have anything he wants.”

Right. No candies for Bernardo. Good to know.

Summoning a stiff smile, I murmur a polite thank you and excuse myself to the ladies’ room.

As I make my escape, Dante voices his approval. “Good girl.”

The husky purr races through my body before settling low in my belly.

Discreetly craning my neck, I spot him over near a column. His smirk tells me he knew exactly how the praise would land, the bastard.

Two can play at that game.

Dante

“Sara, what the hell are you doing?”