I sit down in the chair across the room. Not close. Not far. And I wait. She lies down slowly, curls onto her side facing away from me, and after a few minutes, her breathing evens out. The pill did its job.
I don’t move until I’m sure.
I stare at her back, the soft fall of her hair over the pillow, the gentle rise and fall of her ribs, and tell myself this is good. This is enough for now.
She’s safe.
She’s here.
I stand, silent as a ghost, and step out of the room, closing the door with a quiet click behind me with one hand while texting Leo to send men here to watch the property with the other. And Lexy. Lexy will know what to do. While I wait, I busy myself bringing most of the things I bought for Sophia over the years from her master bedroom closet to the guest room closet. This isn't the way it was supposed to be, but I'm nothing if not adaptable.
The moment the men and Lexy arrive, I give them their orders and meet my driver out front. The SUV is already waiting for me, and the stars are out, clear and brutal above the Catskills.
We head back to the city in silence. Half an hour later, he drops me off at the computer shop, where Yosh still watches my Ducati. I tell him to go to bed and fire her up, the vibration bleeding into my bones like something familiar. But it doesn’t calm me. Not the way it usually does. Because I can’t stop thinking abouther. About the bruises, the fear in her eyes. How she shrank frommelike I was just another man with her blood on his hands.
I aim straight for Roberto's estate, fully intending to make the motherfucker bleed—along with every other soul in that house of horrors who knew what Sophia endured and chose to do nothing. The ride through the city is a blur of cold asphalt and darker thoughts. By the time I pull through the gates, my jaw aches from grinding my teeth. Gray's waiting just inside the mansion foyer; his broad frame fills the space. His expression tells me he's about to give me more than just a status update. "Everything’s secure," he says. Then he clears his throat. "But there’s something you need to see."
I follow him upstairs, past the muted stares of the men guarding closed doors, behind which I suspect Roberto's staff has been contained. Gray heads straight for Roberto's closet with barely contained anger, then throws open the double doors. The sight punches the air from my lungs.
Sophia’s wedding gown hangs there, white silk torn and smeared with dried blood. My vision narrows. The rage that’s been simmering since I got her home spikes, hotand blinding. My hands curl into fists so tight my knuckles pop. If I touch Roberto now, I won’t stop; his death will be too easy.
"Come here," Gray says brutally.
He leads me back into the main room and opens a low drawer. Inside is a neat, revolting arrangement of leather collars, coiled whips, and buckled restraints. Without speaking, he points at the bedpost next. Its wood is marred by deep gouges, marks from bindings pulled taut, again and again.
Gray's voice drops, hard with disgust. "Your girl, Sophia? She went through hell in this room."
My pulse roars in my ears. I see her small frame curled on that guest bed, arms wrapped around herself like she’s holding the pieces together. I see her not touching the tea, swallowing the pill without a word.
I grip the edge of the dresser until it creaks.
"Then hell," I say, my voice low and certain, "is exactly where Roberto’s going."
I force myself to leave the master bedroom before I lose control and end this too quickly. The first door down the hallway is guarded by one of my men. A tilt of my head is all it takes for him to step aside. Inside, the room stinks of sweat and blood. A man slumps in a chair, his shirt is soaked through, and a makeshift bandage is pressed to his side. One look tells me he’s one of Roberto’s soldiers.
"Name," I demand.
He stares at me, keeping his jaw tight and defiant. Good. I didn't want to do this the easy way anyway. My fist cracks across his face before he can think of a lie. Blood sprays, and he wheezes, "Pacco."
"Good," I murmur. "Now tell me about Sophia."
A slow, ugly grin spreads over his split lip. "That nice piece of ass?"
The red haze comes fast, but I grip it tight. If I give in, I’ll kill him before I hear it all. Pacco keeps talking; he's too stupid to realize he’s digging his own grave. He brags about hearing her cry through the walls, about the locked doors, about Roberto’s littlesessionsin the master bedroom. Says she fought, at first. Says Roberto liked breaking her spirit slowly, making sure everyone in the house knew she belonged to him and what he could do to her.
Every word is a nail in his coffin.
By the time he’s done, one thing is clear: Sophia's abuse wasn’t a secret. Every man and woman under this roof knew. And not one of them stopped it. I lean in close so he can see exactly what’s coming for him. "Congratulations, Pacco. You just made it onto my list."
He tries to laugh, then blinks, not fully comprehending what I’m promising.
Something in me slips.
I see Sophia—not as she is now, pale and silent in my guest room—but as she must have been here. Her wrists bound to those bedposts. Her voice hoarse from screaming until it broke, knowing nobody would come for her. Her spirit ground down until she stopped fighting.
The red haze doesn’t just return. It consumes me.
Pacco’s still grinning when my fist hits him, a sharp crack of knuckles to bone. The sound is distant, muffled, like it’s happening in another room. My other hand follows, then another blow, and another. He slumps, but I don’t stop.
