As if he knew there was nowhere I could go.
He stopped directly in front of me.
Then lowered himself into a crouch.
Too close.
I could smell him before I could fully process him—blood, sharp and metallic, layered with cedar and something darker.
The scent wrapped around me, invasive, suffocating, familiar in the worst possible way.
His fingers lifted to my face.
I flinched immediately.
But this time—his touch wasn’t rough.
His fingers caught my chin with a strange kind of restraint, tilting my face upward as though I were something fragile instead of something he was about to destroy.
My breath hitched.
His thumb brushed across my lower lip.
Deliberate.
Almost... thoughtful.
I jerked my head violently, trying to pull away.
I snapped at his fingers, trying to bite, to fight, to do anything that would make him release me.
The men holding me didn’t loosen their grip.
Not even a fraction.
“Please...”
The word tore from my throat before I could stop it.
Broken.
Raw. Unrecognizable.
“You have all the power,” I said, voice quivering, almost breaking.
“Please... don’t do this.”
My chest rose and fell too fast.
“I’m begging you, Vincenzo... I can’t—please.”
For a moment—something subtle shifted in his gaze.
Something that almost looked like it might break him.
But it didn’t.
He leaned forward.
