Charles was barely conscious, his voice a weak whisper. “No... Evelyn didn’t... it was me...” He tried to explain, but his words were cut off by another lash of the whip.

Antonio leaned in close, his voice a low growl. “You will pay for every lie, every betrayal.” He signaled to his men, who brought in a table filled with various instruments of torture—knives, pliers, and branding irons. Antonio picked up a knife, the blade glinting in the dim light.

He ran the blade lightly across Charles’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. “I’m going to deal with you first,” he said, his voice cold. He plunged the knife...