VOICES LINGERED OUTSIDE SOFIA’S CELL. A bloody smile plastered on her face as she heard the string of curse words hurled at her through the bars, followed by her grandfather’s annoyance. She shifted, putting her back against the cold concrete wall, and barely swallowed her wince. Her body was battered and broken. The only thing that kept it functioning was her mind. She’d be damned if she ever gave her grandfather the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

Sofia brought her knees up to her chest and rested her arms across them. The sound of her chains rattling echoed in her too-small cell that reeked of piss and death—it wasn’t her death that lingered in this room; it never would be. She made sure she looked like the perfect picture of calm and obedience, but inside, she was a wealth of fury and triumph.

They thought she was getting complacent.

She had stopped fighting, and that made them careless—sloppy in how they handled her.

“¿Qué está pasando?” Sofia’s grandfather’s voice echoed in the walls around her. He was getting pissed, and she wanted him to be angry. He let his guard down when his emotions were strung too tightly.

“Esa puta le mastico la oreja a Tito,” one of her grandfather’s henchmen snarled, making Sofia laugh.

Tito had gotten a little too close, and she had attacked him. Tito hadn’t expected her to react—to fight with the strength of someone who hadn’t been starved and beaten. Sofia wanted to hurt them as badly as they had hurt her. Now she was sitting in her cell with Tito’s blood dripping down her face, waiting for her cell doors to open so she could attack her grandfather in the same manner.

“Ustedes son idiotas,” her grandfather spat. “Mi nieta has fire in her veins—fire that will not be extinguished after months in these cells. Everything we’re doing is to break the Barbati in her and have the Gomes emerge. Los Gomes nacen del fuego, and as cold as she appears to be, that fire inside of her won’t die out. I told you never to let your guard down around her no matter how complacent she may appear, and you did. Now I’m a man down, and she’s sitting in her cell smiling.”

Her grandfather’s form came into view. His hands curled around the bars, and if she wasn’t mistaken, she thought she saw a hint of pride in his eyes. “Mi nieta.” He smiled at her. “If I believed in gods,” he opened the cell doors and slowly crept in, “I’d say you had the blood of a god in you. You have far exceeded my expectations and that of men twice your size who didn’t have the cozy upbringing you did. I can still see that fire burning in your eyes—desperate to burn everything around you to the ground.”

He knelt down but kept his distance, not daring to get closer because, for all her grandfather’s faults, the bastard kept some sense about him.

He let out a low whistle that turned into a chuckle when he surveyed the blood on her face and at her feet. “What did you use on him?”

Sofia kept quiet but let her mouth split open into a wide grin—even though it hurt to move, her jaw probably broken, but she knew her mouth was coated in blood. She could still taste the coppery flavor that belonged to her and Tito. The piece of shit always tried to touch her when it wasn’t warranted, and now he wouldn’t be able to touch anyone else again.

“Fair enough,” her grandfather mumbled when he realized she wasn’t going to speak. “You’ll thank me for this one day, Sofia. It’s easy to fight when you’re strong and healthy. The mind doesn’t need much convincing to keep going when the body is willing and able, but you won’t always be sitting on top of your throne. One day you’re going to fuck up or get betrayed and end up exactly where you are now. They’re going to break you down piece by piece trying to turn you into a madness that’ll make you beg and become weak. They’re going to break your mind and while you can hold your own when you’ve been fed, rested and safe,” he inched closer, reaching out for her chains, “it’s harder to stay sharp and in control when you’re rotting in your own piss, getting passed off like a cheap whore while they rip your skin to shreds.”

Her grandfather lunged for her, and Sofia caught on a second too late, which gave her grandfather ample time to wrap the chains around her neck. In her weakened state—after she had used most of her energy on Tito—her fight against her grandfather died as quickly as it started. She was only able to land one hit before he stuck her with a needle, making her already weak limbs seem ten times heavier. She sagged in his hold while he sang a lullaby she hadn’t heard since she was four.

“Almost, nieta, but you’re not strong enough yet.”

 

A whistling through the air and flesh being hit were the only things that pulled Sofia out of the memories of her time in Colombia with her grandfather. She swore she would die before she ever found herself naked and hanging from a hot water pipe again, and yet here she was. Her mind too stubborn or broken to give up—her anger too potent to give them the satisfaction of seeing her with anything but the fire in her eyes her grandfather could never extinguish.

The whip came down against her skin again, and she bit her cheek to keep from wincing. This one hurt worse than the others. They had opened up an old wound or had abused one of the many new ones they created. If she was starting to register pain like this, she had been in this warehouse or basement longer than she anticipated.

Sofia had lost track of time. She was kept blindfolded, and the meals were sparse, so she couldn’t time her days with those deliveries. Even the abuse wasn’t coordinated. Sometimes they left her alone for what seemed like days at a time. Other times it felt like someone was in this space with her all the time—either holding her down with her legs spread while all of Boris’ men had a turn or beating her body with whatever they could get their hands on.

Today was the whip.

The sound of grunts filtered around Sofia. Her abuser was getting tired. This would be over soon. These beatings never lasted long, and Sofia had learned how to drop into her body and tune everything out long enough before Boris’ men got tired and had to take a break from whatever they were dishing out.

Her grandfather always said, ‘You can quit, nieta, just make sure it’s after the other guy does.’ She had taken that advice to heart as she hung with her body numb except for that one break in the skin while the arm that wielded the whip with little to no knowledge on how to deliver maximum pain got tired. The hits were not landing with as much strength as before.

“Fuck this.” The man’s voice was filled with exhaustion, and Sofia bit back her smile. Boris’ men were weak, every last one of them.

The sound of footsteps coming up behind her made her body tense to the physical blow that never came in the form of a fist to the stomach like she’d been expecting. Instead it came from the feel of the whip being rubbed in between her legs.

“Boris wants to beat you like you’re cattle when we’d all rather fuck this sweet pussy. A Barbati whore as ours and Boris wants to break you with a whip.” She felt the wetness of his tongue slide alongside her nipple before he sank his teeth into her flesh. The knee-jerk reaction to kick her leg out and break every bone in his body was too strong, but she couldn’t react yet. Attacking him meant all of Boris’ men would be down here to hurt her and she needed time to recoup—plus it wasn’t like she could do much damage in her weakened state.

“Such a waste,” he murmured against her skin before his hands unhooked her chains and her body fell on the concrete like she was no more than a slab of meat.

Sofia bit her lip hard enough to draw blood as the pain in her knees and arms ricocheted in her body like she’d been hit with a blast from a bomb. The pins-and-needles sensation that skirted across her arms, wrists, and fingertips as blood rushed back to those areas had her breathing harshly through her mouth. She desperately tried to keep her pain contained, but even she wasn’t immune to the hurt her body felt as it sparked back to life.

The sounds of footsteps drowned out the roaring blood in her ears. Her body tensed as she held her breath, wondering if she was about to go through another bender with Boris and his men. As far as patterns went, they didn’t have much of any except for when Boris was agitated; he attacked Sofia more often then as if she were the cause for what was pissing him off.

She probably was, but she didn’t waltz into his territory and demand she be taken hostage. What did he expect was going to happen when he took her and kept her breathing?

The footsteps were light, and it didn’t sound like there was more than one person coming at her. Sofia knew it wasn’t Boris or Bruno coming down to taunt her; they made their appearance known. If she had to guess, it was one of their soldiers switching out for the one that was with her now, which meant another round of abuse.

The man with the whip knelt down in front of her, shackling her wrists and ankles. He shortened the chain, but she had enough room to slide back against the cold concrete wall but not before a wad of spit landed on her breast and rough hands gripped her face. “I can’t wait to fuck this pretty face again,” he whispered down at her, his breath hot against her skin.

Sofia smiled up at him, and his eyes glistened with greed. These men—all of Boris’ men expected the world to be laid at their feet in the form of money, drugs, and women. When they didn’t get it, they took it any way they could. “And I can’t wait to rip your limp dick from your body with my teeth,” Sofia snarled.

She knew it was a mistake—knew the blow was coming, but some days she didn’t give a shit. She ran her mouth like she still held power in Boris’ kingdom, and she did. Boris’ biggest mistake was keeping her heart beating. The only way to take out a Barbati raised by a Gomes was death.

“Still talking shit, I see.” Bebo’s chuckle ignited the fire that had been steadily growing in the pit of her stomach. Every time the rat bastard had come into wherever they kept her, it had added another level to the hatred she felt for him. Every day—every second she was locked up like livestock and saw him, it had given her mind a reason not to quit because she refused to have him out live her.

She imagined all the ways she’d cut him up while he was still breathing. She’d start with his tongue and then move on to his nails and then his fingers. Seeing the snake that had been in her garden was all the reminder she needed to uphold the promise she made to both Boris and Bebo when she woke up chained to a chair. They would both die at her hands, but not before she chopped Bebo’s dick off and fed it to Boris and made him choke on it.

“Despedido.” The man with the whip reluctantly dropped his hold on her and stepped back. Bebo walked closer to Sofia.

“Ten cuidado. She still has her claws.” The man with the whip spoke up before he left her alone with Bebo.

“And I can’t wait to stick them in you and watch you bleed,” Sofia taunted, waving her bloodied fingers toward him as he left.

“You’ve been fucked more times than any of the women Boris keeps under his roof, beaten to within an inch of your life, and still there’s no fear in you.” Bebo squatted down in front of her. “How you still have this air of arrogance about you is mind blowing. I’ve seen men twice your size succumb to less and in a shorter time.”

Bebo’s words mirrored the ones her grandfather had spoken to her years ago. He told her that she was strong, but he had to forge her with steel so she would never break. He had predicted this exact scenario—she could see him in this cell with her. She briefly wondered what wise words of wisdom her grandfather would try to bestow on her now while he watched Boris’ men work her over like an enemy they were trying to get information out of.

Sofia didn’t bother to respond to Bebo’s comment. She was comfortable to sit in the silence, knowing he’d be the first to fill it. She could hear in the distance the sound of a leaky faucet or pipe—water dripping from somewhere that was probably meant to drive her mad—and the soft whispers of Boris’ men. The walls were thinner here than where she’d previously been, or maybe the men had just been kept closer to her now.

Sofia swallowed a smile that threatened to creep across her face. Boris made sure there was always an army close by. Maybe he needed an audience when he wielded his heavy hand, a performance of his power. What Sofia really thought was the reason he kept so many close to her was that he still feared her, even in her chains.

Bebo took his time gazing over her naked and battered body. He lingered in certain places, but Sofia never shied away from his or anyone’s appraisal—one of the many lessons of her time with her grandfather she found herself grateful for.

Sofia let Bebo take his time looking at her naked body. She knew she wasn’t what he wanted—what got his dick hard. He liked when women were timid—crying and begging. She would never give him the satisfaction of either. Just like she would never open up her mouth and ask to be let go or make any demands. The threats she gave out for fun. She knew they got under Boris’ skin as well as under the skin of some of his men.

Sofia learned early on what drove them all crazy. Her silence for some, her complacency for a few, and never revealing all her cards for others. They hated how she never acted like the rest of Boris’ victims and she never would. She might be a prisoner, but she wasn’t helpless.

“Todavía veo una perra.” Bebo’s eyes narrowed.

Sofia shrugged. “Only responding to these lovely accommodations.”

Bebo flinched. He tried to hide it, but Sofia saw it and wondered if Bebo regretted his actions—regretted hurting Dom.

A sharp pain pierced through Sofia’s chest as soon as she thought about Dom. She was prepared for it and didn’t wince, even though it felt like her heart was slowly being ripped from her body. Dom had been on her mind as soon as she woke up in this place, and thinking about him hurt her until she learned to focus on her here and now. He still crept into her thoughts, consuming her like the storm he was. The moments when she allowed herself to rest she could smell him in whatever cell they kept her. She could feel his warmth wrap around her, and when she focused enough, he was there—aiding her, giving her strength to keep going.

It was such a contrast from her time in Colombia. She learned never to lean on anyone. Her grandfather made sure to teach her a lesson in trust—tormenting her with kindness only to turn around and stab her for her efforts. He shaped her into the woman she was today, but he could never fully erase what her father meant to her or Dom. Even when she wanted to fight it, her body knew she was safe with Dom, and even as she kept some of her guards up, he had coaxed them all to come down.

Stay strong, Saffi.

Dom’s voice whispered around her as she glared at Bebo who had backed out of her cell and returned with a first aid kit.

Was Dom even alive and whole?

Had they left him to slowly bleed out in front of Griselda’s?

Boris kept his taunts about the Council to a minimum. The only thing he gave her was that her crew would not be coming for her, but she knew better. She wasn’t meant to die here, at least not without taking out a few of Boris’s men.

“You never should have come back here, Barbati.” Bebo squatted down in front of her, opening the first aid kit. This was a new tactic. No one came down here to clean up her blood or piss. She stank, and while she had hoped that kept them off of her, it didn’t deter any of them. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a cool rag to wash away some of the grime on her body.

“At the very least you should have left Vinny in charge—though I can respect why you felt the need to get rid of him. He did need to die for what he did.” Sofia rolled her eyes. Bebo understood her need to avenge her father’s death when it came to Vinny but not enough for her to stay in power.

“This world isn’t meant for women, Barbati,” Bebo continued. “You should have given the organization over to Bruno…well, Boris, really… once Vinny was dealt with. We could have avoided all of this. The deaths, the betrayals. You being here…you’re entirely too pretty to be kept like a dog.” He gripped the chains and tugged her forward.

She bared her teeth, swallowing the urge to bash her head against his and break his nose. She wanted to watch the smug look on his face morph into pain. The skin at her wrists hurt, but it was child’s play compared to the pain that jarring sensation caused. It felt like her bones were rattling around in her body.

“Don’t try anything, Barbati. They might not be able to break you, but they’ll have fun trying.” He opened the kit and wasted no time pouring disinfectant into her open wounds. She felt nothing as she kept her eyes locked on the rat she hadn’t been able to see.

It never sat well with Sofia that Bebo had switched sides with ease. She understood his betrayal of her. Her father might have been royalty in New York at one point, and if she had a dick, her last name would have held a little weight, but she was a virtual stranger playing in a game that had its opponents securely in place. She was the outlier, so she could comprehend why Bebo didn’t trust her to win. Plus, as long as there were opportunities, loyalty was a fickle bitch. In this day and age, everyone was out for themselves.

It was Bebo’s betrayal of Nico and Dom that bothered Sofia. The way Dom had filled her in on the life he led when she was in Colombia made it seem like the three of them were as tight as brothers—if not tighter. Betraying her—a stranger—that was easy. Bebo had to hurt, somewhere inside of him, for betraying Nico at the very least. The way Dom told it, Nico was the one man who stood by Bebo through everything.

How could Bebo stab Nico in the back and not cause himself to bleed?

“What did it?” Sofia taunted, wondering how much she would have to peel back before she got to the bare bones of who Bebo was. “Did Boris give you access to easy pussy, and that’s all it took for you to switch sides?”

Sofia wondered what had sweetened the pot and tempted Bebo to stray from his brother. It wasn’t money or drugs, Nico and Bebo had that in spades. There was only one thing Boris could have offered up, and she wondered if Nico and Dom knew the type of person Bebo truly was.

“I know everyone has a price, Bebo. I didn’t think yours would be so low, especially when it came to Nico’s life.” She looked at him with disdain.

Bebo flinched again at her tone, and it gave her great satisfaction to know there was some regret there, but it was too late for him. He’d die without being forgiven for his sins.

“Nico was always shortsighted.” Bebo added antibiotic ointment to the cuts on Sofia’s arm. “There was a world out there that could have been ours, but he was content to play king to jesters instead of knights. He didn’t want to dip his toes into anything outside of drugs when there were more lucrative alternatives out there that would have kept us off the cops’ radar. It’s easier to pay off the law in pussy than dirty money.”

His gaze lingered on her tits before he dropped the medicine back into the kit. “I tried to get Nico to side with Boris long before you came along, but he didn’t like the gifts they gave us. I was pretending to be a good guy, so I couldn’t like the gifts either, but I’ll let you in on a secret, Barbati,” he leaned in closer, “I used to sample the gifts Boris left me. He always kept the best girls.” Bebo’s smile was sickening.

If Sofia had met this Bebo before she’d been taken to Colombia, she’d probably fear him. Now she just wanted him dead—a slow brutal death, especially when the cold realization hit her that he probably assaulted Natalya when she was staying with them.

“You know this can’t last, right?” Sofia felt her anger build, and she was doing everything she could not to lash out and bash Bebo’s skull against the concrete.

Bebo shrugged. His nonchalance of the situation made Sofia wonder what debts he had in the past that were coming to be collected. It was almost like he was resigned to whatever fate lay before him.

“You’ll die long before Boris’ use for me runs out.” He tugged at her chains again, making the skin at her wrists bleed. “You’ll be a tiny blip in the streets’ history—the last great Barbati died broken and filled with cum like a common whore. You should have never come back. These streets were never yours, and they never were your father’s.” Bebo spit in her face.

Sofia didn’t know if it was all because of Bebo or if the pent-up anger she was holding on to played a role, but her fists balled on their own, and she was moving before she was consciously aware of it. She swung with whatever strength she possessed and hit Bebo square in the nose. The sound of bone cracking made her feral, and she was milliseconds away from scrambling across his fumbling body and clawing at his skin, but shouts and heavy footsteps had her falling back.

She pressed her back against the wall and tried to listen over Bebo’s string of curses. Whoever was coming was speaking Spanish too fast for her to pick it all up, but she caught on to the most important part:

They hit another warehouse. No survivors and all the supplies are gone. Boris is pissed.

Sofia smiled, keeping her eyes on Bebo as he slowly stood to his feet. She braced her body for the hit, but it never came.

“Callate,” Bebo growled, his words echoing in the cell, and the voices abruptly stopped. Bebo knew Sofia heard every word—knew the lifeline that had just been thrown in the cell with her.

A part of the Council was alive and well. It sounded like they were burning the city to the ground, avenging her, and destroying everything Boris had in his name.

“They won’t find you in time,” Bebo warned.

It was Sofia’s turn to shrug as renewed strength made her heart beat stronger. “Just remember my promise, Bebo. I am a woman of my word. Morirai per mano mia.”