I seized the opening, twisting toward the table nearby. There was a glass vase with plastic flowers on it. I grabbed it and raised it over my head, swinging at him.
"Go to hell, you piece of shit!"
Silvio reacted faster than I expected. He caught my wrist.
"Bitch, you dare fight back? You're about to find out what that gets you."
Five fingers clamped down like a vise. The pain of my bones being squeezed made my fingers spring open involuntarily. The vase slipped from my hand and rolled across the floor to the corner.
Silvio grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. My scalp screamed with tearing pain. Tears sprang to my eyes. His hand started tearing at my clothes. Liam's T-shirt collar stretched and deformed, the sound of ripping fabric sharp and piercing.
I screamed. Used every bit of air in my lungs.
I fought with everything I had, kicking and clawing, but against a man's absolute advantage in size and strength, all my resistance was pathetically weak—a cruel joke.
Just when I was nearly out of hope, a dull cracking sound suddenly rang out from above.
Silvio let out an inhuman howl, his body pitching forward, hands clutching the back of his head. Blood poured through his fingers, running down his neck, staining the collar of his new shirt red.
Enzo stood behind him. I didn't know when he'd opened the door and come in.
He held the vase—the one that had just fallen, now half-shattered—in his hand. The base was covered in blood and a few strands of hair. His face was expressionless.
Silvio rolled on the floor twice in agony before finally lifting his head to see who it was. His face twisted, then rapidly shifted to terror.
"Mr-Mr. Falcone."
Enzo didn't let him finish. He lifted his foot and stomped down onSilvio's outstretched, pleading right hand. The crunch of bones shifting under his dress shoe echoed through the rehearsal room. Silvio's scream tore through the entire space.
"Get this thing out of here." Enzo's voice was colder than usual.
Two guards in black walked in from outside, grabbing Silvio from either side. Enzo added, "Castrate him. Dump him in the trash."
Silvio's screams grew fainter as he was dragged out the door, until the door closed again and the rehearsal room went silent.
The willpower I'd been forcing myself to hold onto finally collapsed. My body slid down the wall, legs curled against my chest, trembling violently.
That night when I was thirteen came rushing back. It reached out from the past and wrapped a hand around my throat. My breathing came fast and shallow. The lights swam in front of my eyes. My ears filled with buzzing.
Someone was calling my name.
"Chloe."
Far away, like through glass.
"Chloe, look at me."
Something warm draped over my shoulders. Hands gripped my arms—firm, but not painful. Those hands pulled me up from the floor and helped me sit on the couch.
My vision finally focused. Enzo crouched in front of me, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, the old scar on his right arm exposed under the lights. One hand rested on my knee. The other held out a glass of water.
"Take a drink."
I took the glass. When it touched my lips, my teeth knocked against the rim with a chattering sound. The water went down my throat, cool spreading down my esophagus. My breathing finally slowed.
Enzo waited patiently while I finished, then pulled over a chair and sat across from me.
"So if you're this scared, why the hell are you in a place like this?"
