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The screech he lets out makes me laugh, and the guard says through a clenched jaw, “Do that again and see what happens.”

I roll my eyes at him and let the doctor tend to me.

Lifting and twisting my arm, he examines my wound, then he prods it. I clamp my mouth shut, trapping the wail in.

“She needs antibiotics, but it’s a clean suture.”

“Could you do it better?” I ask, not wanting to go through that discomfort again, but I will if I must. It has nothing to do with vanity. Fine, maybe a little but more with wanting to forget the embarrassment of someone untrained shooting me.

Do I hate Chiara for that? No. It was all on me. But failure is something I hadn’t dealt with until I couldn’t kill Enzo. That was like opening Pandora’s Box, and I couldn’t shut it in time.

“I’ve studied medicine, miss. What do you think? But I couldn’t do it much better,” he says, almost impressed.

“Do it.”

“Wait,” the guard says.

I glower, knowing exactly who he is about to call.

After a brief conversation, he just shakes his head at the doctor.

Egotistical asshole. I keep my mouth shut and twist my bound hands that are so numb, I worry I won’t be able to use them again.

“When will these come off?”

“You’re a prisoner. Don’t forget your place,” the guard smirks.

How I’d love to put a bullet through his skull. Then we’ll see if he has a reason to be so smug.

My belly rumbles loud enough for both men to hear, but they leave, ignoring my situation. I won’t beg for food, that’s for sure.

Alone, my thoughts pose a bigger threat to my sanity than the cuffs and this block of cement. Looking to my right, I notice a prison cell, and I stare longingly at the bed.

I am tired, hungry, and pissed off, but I’ll be damned if I let him break me.

Maybe I am delusional, but if he felt even the slightest bit the way I did about him, he won’t kill me. That’s my saving grace, but our love story is riddled with betrayal and sewn tight with deception. We have no future. We never did. I should think of an escape plan, but I am done fleeing, especially from the only man who ever loved me.

Time in here has the nasty habit of deceiving me. It could be minutes, or it could be hours. The only sure thing is that it passes while I can’t do anything else but endure.

When the door opens again, I recognize her instantly—his sister Dahlia. They have the same shaped eyes, only hers are more blue, appearing lighter. Her dark brown hair falls in loose curls down her back.

She’s dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt tucked in her waistband, and matching sneakers—plain as if she doesn’t want attention on her. She’s beautiful, almost angelic, radiating innocence and goodness.

She could pass as just another Mafia princess used as chattel to secure the best deal.

Enzo would never use her like that and in their world, she’s seen as spoiled goods. While no one knows for sure what happened to her, you don’t spend seventy-two hours captured by the ones who killed your father and remain intact.

I jerk my chin to her, wanting to test the princess. “Are you going to stare at me all day? I am not a monkey in a cage.”

“Even they have more freedom than you do,” she says haughtily.

Somehow, I expected someone different. From what I’ve gathered, both Enzo and Mikail treat her as if she’s a momentaway from breaking down and never coming out of her room. I like strong women. Always have. That’s why I respect Chiara for what she pulled on me.

“True, but that goes for you too.”

She huffs and approaches me. “I am not afraid of you.”

“Why would you be? I am bound to a chair and you’re not on my hit list.”