I hiss as I prod my side.Broken rib.
Salvatore wasn’t fucking around this time. I’ve rarely seen him so furious, and I rub my hands over my swollen face as I consider what other implications there will be for mydisobedience.
For standing in his way last night. Blocking the door to give them another minute.
Another sixty seconds at most. Barely even worth it.
You fucking fool.
There’s a bottle of water in the corner, and I pick it up, my mouth dry. Across from me, a waif of a girl watches through curtained red hair. Her lips are cracked.
Assessing the position of the guards, I glance at her again. She shrinks back as the bottle of water rolls towards her, my hand stretching through the bars as I gesture at her silently to pick it up.
Must be new.
Most of them are used to seeing me down here.
Her hand shoots through, grabbing the bottle and hugging it to her chest as the guards move closer to us. She turns her back to me, facing the wall.
With a sigh, I stretch my legs as much as I can in the cramped space to wait. I won’t be escorting Cat to training today, and my mouth tightens at the thought of her waking to Cecile.
Hours pass, and my eyes are closed when the bars rattle. I open one swollen one to glance at Salvatore, expecting another lecture. Possibly another beating.
He does neither. Instead, he whistles as he unlocks the door. “You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood,nipote.”
Biting back a groan as I climb out, shaking out my aching limbs and holding a hand to my ribs, I don’t respond.
“Aren’t you going to ask why?”
“Why?” My voice is emotionless as I turn to head back upstairs. I have a visit to make and then I’ll go to Cat, check in on her after last night.
His voice is silky. “I’ve had such a wonderful morning with my wife, of course.”
I stop on the steps.
He grips my shoulder, his words a low hiss in my ear as I stand there, the thoughts ripped from my head and replaced with hollow emptiness. “How convenient, that I now havetwosticks to beat you with. Be careful, Stefano. You entertain me, but I’m growing tired of your little rebellions. You will be at dinner tomorrow night. Dress up.”
I take off as soon as his fingers release me.
My heart in my throat, I pound up those stairs, ignoring the pain in my side as I head to her room at a flat run.
“Caterina.” I roar her name as I burst in. “Cat!”
The room is empty, the bed neatly made. Nothing looks out of place, nothing to suggest—
The bathroom door bangs against the wall as I storm in, my eyes locking on the space where the mirror used to be.
“They cleaned it up.”
At the quiet words, I spin. Cat is sitting in the empty bathtub, still dressed, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her hands are dotted with scratches, little dark red lines of drying blood.
She doesn’t look my way when I drop down beside her. “Where were you?”
The whispered question shreds at the heart I thought I’d lost years ago. “I… I was—,”
She glances my way, then. Her eyes sharpen, focus on my face. The darkening, raised eyes, the deep cut in my lip, my swollen cheekbone. “Was that him?”
“Doesn’t matter.” I raise my hand, only to drop it again, digging into the porcelain tub. “What did he do to you?”
