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He glances at Freddie, eyes cold and hard. Standing before him, I’m an offering before a sacrifice.

My knees wobble, but I stand straighter, refusing to show my terror. Marco Scipione is a ruthless bastardo. I’ve heard stories about him, terrible ones. He killed his brother for his seat in power. He cuts out the tongues of his men who fail a simple task. There is a rumor he murdered his wife in their bed because she told him no.

We’ve never met, and I was glad for it.

“Valentina,” he purrs, stepping closer. My whole body shakes, fear rampant. “You’ve certainly grown.”

“Mr. Scipione,” I greet, words tense.

“Marco, please,” he corrects, hand to his chest. “Soon, it’ll be Father.”

“I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances,” he says, gesturing to his men. “But your brother is making things rather difficult.”

“Oh?” Of course he is.

“He keeps stalling the wedding.” Marco looks at Freddie, who leans against the wall, disinterested in this entire conversation. “Any idea why?”

“Unfortunately, my brother doesn’t speak to me about family business.” I lift my chin, hiding the fear. “Whatever he’s done is of his own choosing, I assure you.”

He points a finger at me, smile slow and cruel. “I believe you, Valentina. So, you’ll find this not so personal.” He jerks his head, looking at his guards. “Hold her.”

“What—”

Rough hands grab my arms, pinning them to my side. One man kicks out my knee, and I fall forward, leg throbbing. Another rips the top of my dress, forcing my body to bow. With one palm on my head, another on my shoulder, I’m crunched into a deformed ball, forehead pressed into the filthy floor.

I struggle to pull away and kick out. I will not be manhandled like this. One goon locks down my leg, crushing their heel into my sensitive calf. The sharp pain knocks the wind from me, and I whimper.

Marco tuts over me. “Don’t fight so much, bimba. If you move the wrong way, you risk your ability to dance.”

Icy terror numbs the pain. It’s a threat—a good one. He’s cruel enough to snap my bones and force me to endure for my rebellion.

“What are you going to do?” I grit out. They smash my face further and grime rubs against my cheek.

“Remind Roman who you belong to.” My dress tugs down more, and a tear slips free.

With the angle I’m at, they could⁠—

No.

Something hot waves above my head.

“Give it. Keep her still. We don’t want an ugly mark for the new wife.”

Freddie kneels before me, a sadistic smile on his face. There’s not a lick of concern or sympathy in his eyes. They shine with excitement, pure pleasure.

Briar’s eyes never looked at me like that. In his rage, in his lust, it was only love brimming from his dark emeralds, never this sickness.

“Don’t worry,” he says, smile bright. “This is only a formality. You won’t even notice it.”

Ripping, fiery agony sears against my flesh. I shout out, tears blinding me. Heat shreds my shoulder blade, and I claw against the tile to escape. It’s blistering; my flesh burns, and the sickening smell of singed hair makes me gag.

As soon as it’s put on me, it’s gone. But the pain, the smell, they hover.

Black spots swim in my vision, and my throat aches. My body shudders as I cough, and the men release me. The tile is now my cool sanctuary, and I dig my nails into it, begging for it to swallow me whole.

“See? There, all done,” Marco says above me, voice distorted. Nothing is transmitting right over the aches.

“Now, what?” Freddie asks.