His head had been shaved clean.
Dark stubble already beginning to prick through his scalp.
He didn’t look up.
Ciro stood a few paces away.
Tall. Still. Composed.
A Glock 19 rested in his hands, held in a perfect two-handed grip—low, ready.
Vincenzo shoved me forward.
Hard.
I stumbled, barely catching myself as pain shot through my elbow and up my shoulder.
“You think our world is a joke?”
His voice echoed off the concrete walls.
“You think you can just tag along on a high-risk sit-down because you’re bored?”
A step closer.
“Because you’re angry I left to check on Violet?”
I opened my mouth, ready to answer.
“On your knees.”
Vincenzo’s command sliced through the air like a blade, cutting off every word before it could leave my lips.
I froze.
For a split second—everything stilled.
Then—
Ciro moved.
Fast.
His boot drove into the back of my right knee with brutal precision.
Cartilage cracked.
My leg gave out instantly.
I dropped hard to the ground, knees slamming into concrete with a sharp, sickening impact.
A raw cry tore from my throat before I could stop it.
Pain exploded through my leg.
My vision blurred for a second—but I forced it back.
I forced myself to stay conscious.
