Page 96 of Ruthless Saint

Heart hammering in my chest, I whimper, unable to stop myself, and fling my eyes open.

The man sighs, removing his foot from my face. “Such ashame, I do think your brain would make a beautiful painting on the floor.”

I’m definitely in and over my head with whatever I got myself into this time.

“Up,” the wheezy man says, and I catch sight of him for the first time. He’s short, heavily overweight and looks like he just walked off a set of a black and white gangster movie with his pin-stripe suit and the unlit cigar in his hand.

“Yes, boss.” The other guy’s menacing face nears mine, I hold onto my ankles and pray for the rope to stay in place. Grabbing me by my hair, he hauls me up until I’m kneeling in front of him, my hands still behind me, proud of myself for keeping my mouth shut while all I wanted to do was scream in pain. He must have broken a rib with his kick.

He steps away and stands behind the short guy he called boss. He’s the one clearly in charge.

“Well, well, well,” he wheezes as he steps towards me, his small eyes raking up and down my body, judging every inch of me. “You look just like her.”

I want to ask who, but I have an idea of who he means, the picture I ripped from the yearbook still pressing against my boob inside my bra. I keep my mouth shut, hoping that like every villain in every story I ever read he’ll start talking, just to fill the silence.

But he doesn’t. He watches me instead, his bushy eyebrows draw together so closely they almost look like a monobrow. His lips twitch into a smirk as dread seeps into every pore of my being. I’ve miscalculated. He’s not like every villain in every story because those are fictional. He doesn’t care if I know why I’m here or who I look like.

“Should I kill you myself or should I leave you to Antonio? He does like to play with his food.” Droplets of saliva spit out of his mouth as he speaks.

He chuckles when, once again I stay silent, a barrage ofSun Tzu quotes I’ve ever laid eyes on flashing in my mind. I have no weapon, no way of getting past the two looming figures, and no idea why I’m even here. My phone lies forgotten on the library floor of Blackwood High where I dropped it before I was struck in the back of the head. And the only person even aware of my absence is blocking said library door, hopefully still alive.

Except, I knowonething. And if he isn’t talking maybe he’ll start if I ask the right questions.

“Rosa,” I whisper, my eyes watching him for any tells. “Who is she?”

He laughs, a booming laugh that breaks when he goes into a coughing fit. The hand holding the cigar flies to his chest as he thumps it forcefully, dislodging something wet in his throat, which he proceeds to swallow. Nausea comes back in full force, and I have to hold in the gag that threatens to break free.

“She’s funny, Tony,” he wheezes, elbowing the burly man beside him in the ribs.

“I’m not trying to be.”

Tony’s in front of me in three steps, the back of his hand connecting with the left side of my face so hard I hurdle to the ground. The death grip I have on my ankles ensures the side of my head hits the floorboards. Tasting copper in my mouth, I groan, the pain is unbearable but I must remain strong. I rack my brain for any options on how the hell I am supposed to escape. But it’s too muddled to come up with any solutions.

Tony grabs my hair and roughly shoves me up. “No one asked your opinion,puttana1.”

I look down at the floor, all hope of trying to get out of this unscathed, leaving me. Tony stays beside me as the other man slowly waddles closer, a stench of cigars mixed with BO following him like a cloud of expensive cologne.

The tip of his polished shoe nudges my knee, making me look up at him, my head throbbing in the process.

“Rosa Carusso,” he wheezes, “was your mother.”

43

ALESSA

My heart stutters in my chest as my mouth goes dry.

“Mother?” I croak.

Tony lifts his arm as if to strike me, but the boss shakes his head, making him drop it back down.

“Ye-e-e-e-s,” he leers. “Your lying, cheating, useless cunt of a mother.”

Digging my nails into the flesh of my ankles I stay silent, dropping my gaze back down in submission.

“Is—is she—”

“Dead?”

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