I forced my eyes open.
Not dead.
That was the first thought.
Not heaven.
Not hell.
Just—a room.
I lay on a narrow cot, the thin, unforgiving surface pressing into my back.
My wrists weren’t bound.
But moving still felt like punishment.
Every shift sent a fresh wave of pain rippling through my body, setting fire to the bruises that had already begun to bloom beneath my skin.
I tested my fingers.
They worked.
My breathing steadied—barely.
Then—the door exploded inward.
Vincenzo stormed in.
His presence filled the room instantly—suffocating, sharp enough to cut through the haze of pain clouding my mind.
His face was controlled.
Eyes dark—black with something deeper than anger.
He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping directly in front of me.
Towering. Overwhelming.
“Why on earth did you follow Renzo to that meeting?”
“You’ve been in the academy less than a month.”
A step closer.
“You think you’re ready to ride with the Third Battalion?”
“You think this is some CIA field exercise?”
I forced myself to sit straighter.
Pain lanced through my spine immediately, sharp enough to steal my breath for a second.
I didn’t let it show.
“Take it easy, Vincenzo. Your men might be trained, but I can do everything they can,” I said, trying to mask the ache still rippling through me.
“And it’s not like surviving a bomb explosion is exactly a first for me.”
