Page 96 of Ruthless

“Our business is done here.” Dante is only a few paces behind us now, but he pauses without facing the man in the mask.

“You all must return to Paradiso, Dante. The others expect a debriefing regarding the traitor.”

“No need for a debrief.” Dante’s clenched jaw betrays his simmering hatred. “The ‘traitor’ is dead. What else is there to say?”

A low murmur ripples through the crowd as the stranger stares down a comically long nose. As Dante approaches, I clutch his hand, still holding Jeremy’s with the other.

“I must say, you’re starting to piss me off, Argento.” The masked man trails his fingers along the balcony as he heads for the stairs.

“Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you.” Dante pulls out his phone and presses a button. Gregor picks up after one ring, his voice like gravel over the speaker.

“Yes, sir?”

“Is everyone in position?” Dante doesn’t tear his eyes away from the man in the mask.

“Just waiting for your orders.”

“Stand down for now.” Dante keeps his command casual, like we’re the ones with the upper hand instead of surrounded by danger. “After all, we wouldn’t want to draw any unnecessary awareness over something this small.”

To anyone watching or listening, it might not seem like much, but I know Dante well enough to recognize the danger. Gregor is here with backup, so if anyone acts against us, this could devolve into an all-out war.

We’re not on a pier in the middle of the night cloaked by a dense fog. We’re in an office building in downtown Staten Island, just a few blocks from the ferry and the subway station. If the Council values secrecy so much, they won’t risk bringing any undue attention. Not when they went out of their way to kill Enzo for threatening to do just that. With just a few words, Dante is drawing a line in the sand.

Either the Council breaks its own strict rules, or they back off and let us go.

As Dante ends the call, spittle flies from the man at the railing’s mouth. “You think I care about that?”

I stiffen, my iron grip on Jeremy’s hand causing him to mutter under his breath. Is this Councilor willing to brawl here and now just to put the three of us down? The fallout would be nearly impossible to contain.

Dantetsks. “Of course not. But it’s strange, isn’t it? Isn’t secrecy one of your biggest rules? It almost sounds like you’re threatening to break the Code. Which can’t be right.” Lifting his hand, Dante mimics a pistol with his fingers. He tracks an invisible target, a gesture mirrored by the crimson bead of a scope blooming in the center of the man’s mask. “Because we all know what happens to Codebreakers.”

The Councilor goes painfully still before tossing his head back and barking a stuttering, empty laugh that’s reminiscent of a scratched record. A chill travels down my spine.

“Let’s go.” Dante tugs my hand.

Together, we urge Jeremy out of the building, and only once the sun warms my face does a delirious, adrenaline-fueled cackle escape me. The morning air dries the cold sweat coating my skin, and giddy relief leaves me dizzy as I stumble into Dante’s passenger seat.

Dante peels off into traffic, and we race back to the townhouse in record time. We only have a few minutes to grab Pistol and a few necessities. Tension weighs in the air, but we’re all too consumed by stress to break the silence.

As soon as we arrive, Dante hops the curb, slamming the car into park and ignoring an irate jogger who’s forced to dodge us. For the first time, my happily ever after is within reach.

It’s so close, and I’m terrified because, with every second that passes, I feel like reality will soon come crashing back down and destroy the hope blossoming within me.

I choke down a surge of emotion and shift toward Jeremy in the back seat. “Stay here. We’ll be right back.”

At his nod, Dante and I jump out and sprint for the front door. I don’t have much to bring with me, but I want to scribble a note for someone to release Angela.

At the threshold of the house, Dante halts abruptly, and I curse as my nose collides with his back.

“What…?”

An older gentleman with a cane waits for us in the foyer. His guarded eyes flick from me to Dante, and though we’ve never met, I recognize him as Dante’s father from the arrogant head tilt and the familiar slope of his nose.

He raps his cane sharply on the marble floor in a show of disapproval. “You need to fire whoever trained your guard dog.”

Chapter 40

Dante