My legs bore their own history. Scars layered over scars from ankle to thigh. Thin silver lines from old beatings. Angry red welts from whips and chains. Dark bruises still blooming fresh beneath torn fabric.
I widened my stance, ignoring the fire that shot through my hips.
I would crawl through broken glass before I walked willingly back into Ruslan’s house.
Dario’s jaw tightened.
“Elena, please.”
I signed with shaking hands.
I won’t go back there.
Ethan translated quietly.
Exhaustion hit suddenly—like a collapsing building.
Two months of captivity.
Fresh assault.
Untreated infections simmering in my bloodstream.
Constant burning pain between my legs that felt like acid poured into open wounds.
My vision blurred.
The night tilted sideways.
“Elena—” Dario’s voice sharpened.
My knees gave out.
Strong arms caught me instantly—Dario and Ethan at my sides, Luca’s uninjured arm wrapping around my waist, Marco steadying my shoulders. Nico and Vito moved behind me, bracing my back before I hit the asphalt.
Their voices overlapped, muffled by static.
“She’s burning up—”
“Get the car—”
“Easy, easy—”
Darkness swallowed me before I could protest.
Chapter 2
ELENA
When I woke, it wasn’t to concrete. It wasn’t to chains. It wasn’t to the smell of mold and rust.
It was cedar.
Expensive cologne. Polished marble.
My eyes fluttered open slowly.
A high ceiling stretched above me, recessed lighting casting a warm glow across intricate molding. Heavy silk drapes framed floor-to-ceiling windows.
