—Tristan— I raced down the stairs when I heard Simon’s cackling and spotted him in the doorway to Ellie’s cell, not inside of it. I slowed, knowing there was no rush. He wasn’t that stupid. Stupid enough, but not so stupid to try touching something that was mine. “Get out, you disgusting pervert,” I heard Ellie’s voice. “Shut up, whore. You aren’t in New York. Here you are nothing. I can’t wait to bury my cock in your cunt once Tristan is done breaking you in.” “I won’t shower in front of you. Get out!” “Then I will call Tristan and tell him to punish you.” Oh ... so he would call me? Interesting. I stalked closer, not making a sound. Simon’s back twitched like he was busy jerking off, which was probably the case. My mouth pulled into a snarl, but I held back my anger. More silence followed and I approached without making a sound. Simon’s profile appeared in my view, leaning in the doorway with his hand clutching his ugly dic

—Tristan— I grabbed sweatpants to put on before I headed downstairs into our gaming room, where Savio, Damian,and Mason were sitting. Since Damian had married Kate and she had joined our family, my days of walking through the house naked when I pleased were fucking over. My brothers regarded me as if I was a bomb about to detonate. I flashed them a smile. Mason shook his head but didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to hide his aversion toward me or his reluctance about becoming a Camorrista. Damian rose slowly. “You shouldn’t have brought her here.” I grabbed the pizza menu. “Savio, order pizza for us and an extra one for Eleanor.” Nico came around the sofa. My eyes flickered over the tension in his limbs. “Tristan, take her somewhere else.” “No,” I said. “She will stay here, under this roof, where I can keep a fucking eye on her.” My brother stopped in front of me, a deep frown pulling his brows together. That was the equivalent of an

—Tristan— Damian’s expression was strained, but he wasn’t about to lose his shit again. He was staring into my eyes, no longer at Eleanor. He swallowed then the cold mask took hold of his face and he straightened. “You will have to stitch her up yourself. You played this game and lost. You underestimated your opponent,” he drawled then left, leaving me standing there, fucking furious and fucking ecstatic. I turned around slowly. Eleanor was swaying but trying to stand tall. Her chin was covered in blood from the wound in her lip, from biting down on it to stop a scream. She didn’t give me a single one. My gaze dipped lower. Her nightgown was stained with the blood still trickling from the cut in her arm, which she cradled against her chest. She was supposed to choose differently like all the other women always did. Instead, she’d caught me off guard, had taken the painful road, had forced my fucking hand. She hadn’t given me the triumph of off

—Ellie— I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, worrying about my family, especially Mateo. He was so protective of me, what if he did something stupid like attack and get himself killed? I wanted to be saved but if something happened to Sam, I wouldn’t survive. I’d rather suffer pain and endure Tristan’s presence than see my cousin get hurt. A heavy weight settled in my stomach when I remembered the look in his eyes when Tristan had put the knife against my skin. That look had hurt so much more than the shallow cut. But the cut had given me an important piece of information about Tristan. He had a weakness, and it had something to do with those scars and his brothers. Steps sounded in front of my door and someone knocked. I sat up, surprised. Nobody had bothered to knock. The lock sounded and the door swung open as I stood, and a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a yellow summer dress, stepped in. She was shorter than

—Tristan— I headed for the utility cupboard. Savio leaned against the bar, nursing a drink and his bruised ego. “Next time you should pay more attention.” He glared. “I think from the two of us, you have more reason to worry. She’s yours, not mine. Wait till she tries to boil your dick.” “I can control Eleanor. Don’t worry.” I took a mop and a bucket out of the closet before I returned into the kitchen. Eleanor stood at exactly the same spot, frowning down at the floor. I handed her the bucket and the mop, which she both took without protest. She avoided my eyes as she set out to fill the bucket with water and put it down on the ground. It became apparent pretty quickly that she had never wielded a mop in her life. She used too much water, flooding the floor. Leaning against the counter, I watched her in silence. She should have taken a rag, gotten down on her knees, and cleaned the floor properly, but I knew her pride would stop he