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“So we keep her in the dark too.”

“For now,” Seamus says. “Long enough to be sure.”

I think about that. I think about what it costs a person, not knowing where they stand, not knowing who's holding the door. I had years of not knowing why. I know exactly what that does to a person.

I also know Seamus isn't wrong. I spent years learning that information is the only currency that matters in a cell, and the man who hands his over too soon is the man who doesn't walk out.

“You're asking me to let a woman who just got sold at auction go on thinking she's been sold again,” I say. “To me.”

“I'm asking you to keep her alive,” Seamus says, “until we can tell her the truth without it getting her killed. There's a difference, and it's the only one that matters right now.”

Declan watches me in the mirror. “We made the call together, Tor. Before you were even out the gate. Wanted you to hear that part plain—it's not Seamus deciding for you. It's the family deciding, and you're part of that.” He pauses. “Welcome home, brother.”

I don't answer right away. I look out the window instead, at the green-blue water, at a city that kept moving the whole time I was standing still.

Whatever I find in that room—whoever's selling her, whatever she's already been told about who I am—I already know how this starts. It starts with me lying to her the moment I open my mouth.

“Tell me everything you've got,” I say. “The room, the security, the timeline. All of it.”

“Tonight's for Mam's dinner,” Seamus says.

“Tonight's for the dinner,” I agree. “Tomorrow, everything else.”

Seamus nods, satisfied, like he expected nothing less.

I’m coming home to a family that's changed, a war waged in my absence, and a reward for surviving prison—a woman in a holding room somewhere, who doesn't know yet that the next man who reaches for her isn't another buyer.

I want one thing and one thing only: to get her out clean and to find out who put her up for sale in the first place.

Everything else, I'll figure out after.

Chapter Two

VALENTINA

I’ve never wanted to murder someone so badly in my entire life. I usually leave that to my brothers and father. They’re good at it.

But if that fucking asshole with the dead tooth and the shamrock tat on his hand breathes that sour breath on me one more fucking time, I will lose my mind.

I’m not actually sure how I’ll murder him, but here, trapped in this musty cell, I’ve had plenty of time to consider my options.

Poison? Maybe if he comes in here alone, I could kick him in the nuts, buy myself some time, and tie a plastic bag over his head…

“Sorry, Mama,” I whisper to the ceiling. Sometimes I imagine she can still hear me wherever she is now. “You know I was never a violent person.”

Even my mother would want death for the men who put me here.

I miss my freedom. I miss Tuesday morning coffee with Gia in Manhattan, at the place with the marble counter and flavored whipped creams. I’d give anything to be back there, without a care in the world.

Instead, I’m piecing together what I know and what I don’t.

What don’t I know?—why I’m here and what I should do. What do I know?—the McCarthys took me. I’ve caught enough names, pieced together what they’ve said, and researched the McCarthys enough to recognize details. It’s only normal to research the fuck out of a family you’re supposed to marry into.

I’ve had days to construct theories. The most likely is that my father made an enemy of them and I’m the leverage. It wouldn’t be the first time an Esposito was used as a message.

I hate this cell. I hate everything about this place. It smells of urine and stale coffee, taking away what little appetite I have left.

The door to my cell scrapes open across the concrete floor, and I push to my feet. Shamrock steps into the dim overhead light and glares at the full tray of food he left for me. “I told you to eat,” he says, stalking over to me.