—Tristan— Sitting on the sofa in the game room, I stared down at my phone. Two missed calls from Salvador. The last from yesterday. Three days since my entertaining call with Drake. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to Salvador, knowing I had him right where I wanted him. “It’s time to end this. Salvador called me today. He’ll exchange Scuderi for Eleanor.” “I’m Don. I decide when and how to set her free.” Damian leaned forward, arms braced on his thighs. “Tristan, if you have feelings for her—” I cut him off. “I’m not like you. One woman won’t turn me into an emotional mess.” He narrowed his eyes but his expression remained calm. “Then send her back. Fabian is getting impatient and so am I. There’s nothing else to gain from this. Salvador won’t give us more than Scuderi. You already made them believe you tortured and raped Eleanor. They are on their knees, but Salvador is Capo. He won’t give up more than his Consig

—Ellie— Up until the very end, I was convinced Tristan would keep me. I kept denying the truth until I was faced with the result of my sins: the exhausted faces of my family and fiancé. They waited in the abandoned parking lot. Dad, Salvador, Drake. Mateo wasn’t there, and I knew it was because he would have lost it. Behind them on the ground lay a tied up man, probably Fabian’s father. His back was turned to me so I couldn’t be sure. Their eyes were drawn upward toward one of the buildings, and when Tristan pulled me out of the car, I found the reason why. Damian was perched on the roof as a sniper. Fabian got out of the car as well, his own gun drawn. Tristan led me a few steps away from the car. Then he stopped. “You were very ill-advised attacking our territory, Salvador,” he said pleasantly, his grip on my hip tight as he held me against his body. My eyes lingered on the ground because my guilt sat so heavily on my should

—Ellie— Outside of Mexico we traded in the car for the private jet belonging to the Outfit. I huddled in my seat, my cheek pressed to the window, watching the city grow smaller in the distance. Dad sat across from me, looking and not looking at me, caught somewhere between utter relief and hopeless despair. I knew what a pitiful sight I was. Bloody and torn dress. Bite marks all over my throat. My uncle was talking quietly on the phone, but he, too, slanted the occasional look at me. The only one who hadn’t looked at me after I flinched from his touch was Drake. He leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, staring blankly at the floor. Guilt and a flicker of sadness washed over me. For him. For us. For what could have been and never would. I swallowed and looked away. I met Dad’s gaze. He forced a small smile and reached for me as if to touch my legs over the tulle of my dress, but then he hesitated as if he was worri

—Ellie— After covering the bite marks with concealer, I left my room with Mateo at my side. Mom was in the dining room, setting plates up for dinner. Usually the maids did it, but I got the impression she needed to keep busy. She’d lost weight. She had always been tall and thin, but now she was willowy. Mateo’s words flashed through my mind, that she’d fallen to her knees and begged Salvador to save me. My mother was a proud woman. I don’t think she’d ever begged for anything in her life nor knelt. But kneeling for the ones we loved ... that was something she and I would always do. I walked over to her. She smiled but her eyes held questions and fears. “Can I help you?” Her eyes flitted down to my throat. “No, Ellie. Just rest.” I didn’t feel like resting. “Where are the others?” “Your father and uncle are talking to Drake in the office. Arianna will be here soon. She’ll be so happy to see you again.” I smiled but m

—Ellie— Mateo was already gone when I woke the next morning. He’d always been a late riser, but that, too, seemed to have changed. I slipped out of bed and dressed before I left my room. Instead of heading downstairs, I moved down the hallway to Arianna’s room and knocked. My stomach tightened painfully. “Come in!” she called. Frowning at her chipper tone, I slipped in. She lay on her stomach, her ankles crossed. She was drawing. When she spotted me, she flushed. I walked toward her and perched on the edge of the bed. Her arms covered her drawing, and I tilted my head. “I wanted to talk to you about Drake. I assume Dad already talked to you?” She gave a tentative nod, biting her lip. “Are you mad at me?” “Mad?” I echoed, confused. “Because Drake wants to marry me now and not you.” The tightness left my chest. That was what they told her. Good. I regarded her closely. “No. I’m not. I want you to be