But there were too many.
Hands closed around me from every side.
My arms. My waist. My shoulders.
I kicked.
Thrashed. Fought.
Screamed through clenched teeth as I tried to wrench myself free, my body twisting in their grip.
But it wasn’t enough.
They overpowered me. Dragged me down.
Hard.
To my knees.
And this time—the same knees—the same fragile, already broken point—hit the concrete with a force that shattered whatever was left of my restraint.
The gauze tore instantly.
Fabric ripping under the pressure.
Skin meeting concrete.
Raw. Unprotected.
Pain detonated through my legs in a white-hot surge, so intense it stole the air from my lungs.
My vision blurred.
Stars burst behind my eyes.
A strangled sound tore from my throat as fresh blood soaked through the ruined bandages, spreading in dark, ugly blooms across the white fabric.
My breath came in sharp, broken gasps.
Every nerve in my body screamed.
The men bearing down on my shoulders pressed harder, forcing my kneecaps into the concrete until pain shot up my legs in sharp, blinding waves.
My body bucked instinctively, twisting, straining against their grip—but it was useless.
Their hands didn’t budge.
Their weight didn’t shift.
I was trapped.
Pinned. Rendered still.
Vincenzo approached.
Slow.
Each step deliberate, unhurried, as if time itself bent around him.
