Chapter 1

They kept me in the dungeon for three days.

No water. No food.

Just endless darkness and the skittering of rats across concrete.

Fever set in. The crushed knee began to rot, filling the air with the stench of decay.

I thought I would die there, quiet and forgotten.

On the fourth night, the heavy iron door opened.

Two maids entered, covering their noses in disgust as they dragged me to the bathroom.

Icy water poured over my head. I shook violently from the cold.

They scrubbed my body roughly with brushes, like I was some filthy object that needed cleaning.

Then they shoved me into an ill-fitting, cheap black maid's uniform.

The skirt was obscenely short, barely covering my thighs. Both legs completely exposed.

My right leg—nothing below the knee but a twisted, mangled stump—looked grotesque.

"The Godfather is hosting a banquet tonight," one maid said coldly. "Miss Thalia's orders. You're serving drinks in the hall."

I listened numbly, showing no reaction.

Serving drinks.

I'd served drinks at Carlos's place too.

If you spilled, they put out cigarettes on your skin.

I lowered my head obediently and began dragging my ruined leg toward the brilliantly lit hall.

Every step ground the shattered bone against raw flesh. Cold sweat broke out across my body. Severe dehydration made my vision swim with black spots.

But I couldn't stop. Stopping meant getting beaten.

The hall blazed with crystal chandeliers. The air hung thick with expensive perfume and Cuban cigar smoke.

New York's mob elite, politicians, socialites—all here, glasses raised in celebration.

Leander stood at the center, dressed in a burgundy velvet suit, every inch the king.

Thalia clung to his arm, radiant with smiles.

When I appeared at the edge of the hall, the noise died instantly.

Every eye turned to me.

Contempt. Mockery. Morbid curiosity. Disgust.

"Is that... the former mistress of the Castello family?"

"Christ, what happened to her? Looks like a crippled beggar."

"I heard she betrayed the Godfather. They sent her to Mexico. Miracle she's even alive."

The whispers stabbed through me like poisoned needles.

I kept my head down, eyes fixed on the champagne flutes on my tray.

Don't look. Don't listen.

Just deliver the drinks. Just finish the task.

I dragged myself toward a nearby table.

A beer-bellied mob boss looked at me, malice glinting in his eyes.

Just as I turned away, he stuck out his shoe and tripped me.

I was already unsteady. I went down hard.

Crash—

The tray hit the floor. Champagne glasses shattered everywhere.

Glass shards flew in all directions.

The sharp sound of breaking glass exploded in my skull.

In Carlos's dungeon, every time glass broke, whips cracked and electricity burned.

"Stupid pig! Can't even hold a tray!" Carlos's roar echoed in my ears.

The harsh voices around me merged with his.

My body reacted before my brain could catch up.

Pure reflex—both knees buckled. My shattered right knee and intact left leg slammed down onto the pile of broken glass.

Sharp edges drove deep into my rotting flesh. Blood gushed out instantly.

But I felt no pain.

Only endless terror.

I collapsed forward, arms wrapping around my head, body convulsing violently, throat producing broken, rasping sounds:

"Nnn... ahhh... s-sorry... sorry..."

Don't hit me! I'm sorry! I'll lick it clean, I'll lick it clean right now!

Like a beaten dog, I stuck out my tongue stiffly, trying to lap up the champagne and blood from the marble floor.

The hall fell deathly silent.

Everyone stared in horrified shock at my inhuman behavior.

"Jesus... has she lost her mind?" someone gasped.

Leander's face turned ashen.

He strode over and grabbed me by the back of my collar, hauling me up like a lifeless rag doll.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

He slammed me against the wall, those gray-blue eyes flooding with red.

"Playing another pathetic victim act?! In front of all these people, you'd humiliate the Castello name like this?!"

His voice shook with barely controlled fury and revulsion.

He thought I was faking it.

Thought I was using extreme self-harm to manipulate him, to gain sympathy, to embarrass him.

I was forced to look up at him.

His face, twisted with rage, merged with Carlos's.

Same cruelty. Same brutality.

I stared at him blankly, shedding no tears, offering no resistance.

I was already numb.

"Say something, you bitch!" Seeing my blank expression only enraged him further. He raised his hand to strike.

"Leander, don't!"

Thalia rushed over right on cue, grabbing his arm desperately.

"Cordelia's probably just nervous. After all, she... she's been through so much trauma."

She turned to me, those amber eyes filled with poisonous pity.

"Cordelia, you dirtied this gentleman's shoes. Apologize."

She pointed at the mob boss who'd tripped me.

The man smiled smugly, extending his wine-soaked shoe.

"That's right, former Godfather's wife. Lick my shoe clean, and I'll forgive you."

Leander stared at me coldly, saying nothing to stop it.

He was waiting for me to break, to sob and beg him for mercy.

But dignity was something I'd left behind in that Mexican cage.

I lowered my head obediently. Without hesitation, I dragged my bleeding legs forward, crawling slowly toward the mob boss.

Just as my filthy face was about to touch that disgusting shoe—

A deafening crack split the air.

Leander suddenly drew his gun, smashing the butt into the man's face, sending him flying. Then he kicked him viciously in the ribs.

"Get out!" he roared like an animal unleashed.

Everyone in the hall backed away in terrified silence.

Leander turned back to me, chest heaving violently.

He stared at the mangled mess of my knees, at my hollow, dead eyes that showed no shame even in the face of utter humiliation. Something invisible clenched around his heart. A strange panic seized him.

"Take her away," he ground out, voice horrifyingly hoarse.

Two bodyguards hauled me off again.

In the dim corner of the hallway, Thalia appeared, holding a glass of red wine.

She lifted her chin slightly. The bodyguards immediately understood, stopping and turning their heads away.

She smiled sweetly as she slowly poured the entire glass over my bleeding stump.

The alcohol hit raw flesh instantly. Pain seared to the bone.

"Cordelia, this is only the beginning," she whispered, her voice dripping venom only I could hear. "You'll never get back up. Not in this lifetime."

I didn't look at her.

I only stared at the closed French windows at the end of the hall.

Third floor.

I wondered—if I jumped from there, would it all finally be over?