Page 30 of Ruthless King
I will never escape her.
“You can go,” I snap to the woman on the bed. Suddenly, playing games with a hellcat isn’t so appealing. There’s a part of me that will always crave the thrill of the fight. Then there is the man who just wants to rest. To watch Vin marry some spoiled littlemafiyabitch and live his happily ever after. Everything I’ve bled and fought for, the horrible shit I’ve done…
All of it will be worth it for that one moment. It will.
Impatient, I wait for the sound of footsteps. For the door to slam. I give her ample time before I whirl around to find her still crouched on the bed, her eyes like saucers, staring at me as though I’m a ghost. Or a monster. Some horrible mixture in between the two.
And my exhausted fucking brain… It toys with an impossibility too foolish to seriously entertain even for a second. Considering it at all makes me no better than a goddamn masochist. For over seven damn years, I’ve avoided poking this wound.
Until tonight. Vin’s already scraped the surface of the scar by saying her name.
So why not stick a knife in it.
My jaw aches as I pry my lips apart. I know before I say the name that it’s useless to suspect this woman could be her. Still, I torture myself. “Safiya?”
An image of her, blurred and distorted after years of suppressing her memory, appears in my mind. A cherub face. Eyes the color of amber. A sweetness unmatched by even the most cheerful incarnation of Pollyanna. She used to love that stupid book. Relished in finding the good in anything, even in the monsters who surrounded her and the parents who, by their actions, condemned her to death. The little girl I sold. The innocent life I ruined. The flame that ignited the creature I’ve become today.
Safiya Mangenello. Her life is a cross around my neck, my burden to carry until I die. And this woman isn’t her. There’s none of that sweetness, that innocent, pure joy. None of that yearning to please or her gift for sowing peace.
The Safiya I knew would never wield a blade against someone. Not her, the girl who cradled dying birds in her hands and wished only to play in the mud. It was her gentle spirit that made her so easy to mold and manipulate at will.
It made it even easier to kill her.
“Safiya Mangenello,” I repeat hoarsely, watching the woman’s face for any shred of acknowledgment. Her lips are pursed, her expression carefully controlled. But she can’t hide a subtle flinching. While not Safiya herself, she’s heard that name before.
Whoever hired her must have fed it to her. As an example of why I deserve to die? Or maybe as part of some elaborate trick. Pretend to be Safiya. Even imitate her mute nature to get inside my head and make me lower my guard.
There is just one flaw with that plan. Safiya couldn’t scream, even if she wanted to. This woman will.
I adjust my grip on the knife, suppressing the tendril of unease warning me to stop. Let her go. Ignore this slight.
But Vin’s not here. Without his calming influence, it’s easier to entertain the icy thoughts for longer than I normally would. Fuck, I swear I literally see red, flashing across my vision for a split second. From the window? I look over, but apart from the lights in a nearby building, I see no such color.
My fucking head… I didn’t drink enough, it seems. Old Don lurks beneath the confines of my fragile sanity, growling like a goddamn animal.
To be fair, she could have gone after me, and I wouldn’t care. My life. My reputation. My livelihood. Anything or anyone but my family—what little of it remains, alive or otherwise.
Olivia and our child.
Vincenzo.
Safiya.
They are the few aspects of my life I’ve deemed off-limits. No one will ever sully them before me.
“Did he tell you to say it?” I demand, gripping the blade so tightly it shakes. “The bastard who hired you? Huh? Did he tell you to pretend to be a mute little girl in some sick, fucking way to get inside my head? Answer me!”
She doesn’t. Her eyes remain fixed on my chest, but her expression slips. For a heartbeat, she isn’t a tiger anymore. Just a woman, pale, trembling in the shadow of someone more than twice her size.
That look feeds the darkness inside me like a match striking tinder. Crueler fantasies come to life on the edge of my consciousness. I could easily crush her throat in my fist if I wanted to. Pin her down. Prove my point by making her scream… My fingers flex at the thought, and I can’t stop myself from taking a step toward her. Then another.
I reach out, but in the end, I grab my jacket, tugging it on despite the loose sleeve.
“Safiya Mangenello couldn’t plead for her life,” I confess, facing the woman once more. I can’t help the way I flinch as the words leave my mouth—that fact has haunted me every waking moment since I betrayed her. “But you will. Tell me who hired you—”
She lurches to her feet in such a display of grace; I almost forget my hate. This pain... As elegant as a dancer, she races toward me, her gaze on my face, her beautiful features displaying pure terror.
I’m too startled to react like I should. I halfheartedly lift the knife, but her hands, soft and outstretched, slam into me first. She’s not strong enough to push me down outright—and yet I let her, using the momentum to dive to the floor.
