Page 66 of Ruthless

Servers break off in different directions to refill wine glasses. I decline to partake, eager to depart as soon as possible. Sara’s back at the townhouse, and my breathing hitches with excitement over seeing her again. This chest-deep ache andzinging anticipation are exactly what I experienced when we were first together, which means my feelings are getting out of hand again. And I can’t afford to succumb to my emotions, not when that stunt at the museum already shoved a spotlight onto our relationship.

Even if I were willing to forgive Sara or hear her out about the past, I couldn’t afford the price. Not when the cost might be Sara’s life.

As doubt sets in, a boulder forms in my gut. I can’t be wrong about Sara. Because if I am, that means I essentially pinned a target on the back of an innocent woman.Mywoman. And I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself for placing her in danger.

After a few minutes pass, Pantalone rises to his feet. “Before we begin, we must attend to a small matter.” His gaze seems to settle on me, and my previous nerves burst back into existence.

The rear door opens, this time admitting two Council soldiers. A woman with a black eye and a strip of duct tape over her mouth hangs between them. Her panicked eyes dart around the room, though Pantalone’s words drown out her terrified whimpers.

When her gaze lands on me, everything inside me grinds to a halt.

“This is Vivian. Vivian used to be one of you until she violated the Code.”

No introduction necessary because I recognize her.

Vivian Luicci. Once a good friend of my mother’s. As she snares me with that glossy stare, I can’t help but wonder if her appearance here is coincidental…or targeted at me.

The knot in my stomach coils to the point of pain. Vivian, who’s maybe five years younger than Papá, is still a petite woman. The blond hair pulled back into a neat bun is half gray now, and the silver wisps that escape to frame her face remindme of Sara. When Pantalone snaps his fingers, Council soldiers drag her to the foot of the table.

No one bothers to ask which rule she broke. That detail doesn’t matter. When a Council member issues an order, everyone rushes to comply or risks the consequences.

When Pantalone extends his hand, an attendant brings him a gilded tray. A black whip curls in the center like a snake.

I feel sick. Impotent. My mother would hate this for her friend, but I can’t intervene.

Lifting the banded handle, Pantalone caresses the braided leather like he might a long-lost lover. “Vivian is guilty of disloyalty. Tonight, in accordance with our rules, she’ll be stripped of her mask and punished.”

“Yes.” Dottore, another scarce face at these meetings, speaks in a low drawl as he swirls the dark liquid in his wine glass. The furrows carved into the mask’s forehead evoke perpetual contemplation. “We have limited seats at tonight’s table. Anyone who volunteers to help in the festivities will be guaranteed a spot.”

Everyone glances at one another, unsure, until a thin woman with long, straight dark hair comes forward. Pantalone inclines his head in approval. “We thank you, Regatta, for offering your service. Please, restrict the number of lashes to five or under this evening. I’m sure there are others who’d like a turn.”

The woman nods, her movements languid. The prim blue dress she wears clashes with the situation, but when I catch a glimpse of her eyes through her blank, Council-issued mask, it’s like looking at an empty, unfeeling doll.

Pantalone drapes the whip across both hands as an offering. Regatta bows her head in the ritual show of respect before positioning herself behind Vivian, who mumbles frantically beneath the duct tape. Regatta draws her arm back and then forward as if she’s done this dozens of times before. Maybe shehas. The Council periodically sets up loyalty tests similar to this in order to obtain fresh blackmail on all of us.

The whip whistles through the air before licking Vivian’s back, and the gunshot-like crack forces a flinch from me. Vivian screams into the tape, struggling to escape the guards keeping her upright.

As ordered, Regatta proves brutally efficient, inflicting a significant amount of damage in just five strikes. Following that first hit, I manage to stifle any visible reactions, but the effort costs me. Showing vulnerability is like asking for it to be exploited.

After my imprisonment and losing Sara, these types of sessions stopped fazing me much. At times, I even reveled in the pain being doled out. The choice was either that or succumb to my trauma, so to survive, I embraced becoming as big of a monster as the people around me. Even on my worst days, though, I never could tolerate the snap of the whip. Too many terrible memories. And now, I worry that Sara has softened me even more, because between that and knowing the victim, I find this demonstration of cruelty almost unbearable.

Regatta hands the weapon to the next volunteer before accepting her seat at the table beside Arlecchino.

The Councilman leans close to her ear, nodding toward Vivian, who’s choking on sobs, and the woman sniggers in response. Much like Zanni, Arlecchino has always possessed a wickedly cruel sense of humor. The unsuspecting confuse his strategic mind and willingness to play the long game with a reluctance to act.

They rarely live long enough to regret their lapse in judgment.

At their laughter, bile scalds my esophagus. Somewhere along the way, I started clenching my hands, so I work to relaxthem while my head throbs as if someone drove an iron spike through my eyes.

A few others in the crowd show signs of uneasiness, too, but no one can afford to challenge this sadistic display. Those of us in this room have no choice but to participate.

Anyone who fails to comply is labeled a weak link that needs to be rooted out.

Rocco Covello goes next. He’s an up-and-coming boss from the Covello family who’s currently trying to gain control of the Lower East Side. He’s been petitioning for the Council’s aid for months and wants to stay in their good graces. The prick probably thinks of this as an ideal opportunity to ingratiate himself with the Council.

Rocco sends the whip flying again, and the sharp edge rips the flesh from Vivian’s upper back.

Before I can stop the action, my shoulders tighten. The motion is almost imperceptible, but paranoia whispers that someone’s watching. I attempt to scan the crowd without canting my head, and to my relief, no one peers my way.