Three nights later, Sophia was back.

She moved through the prison corridors with practiced silence, her black hoodie zipped high and a small bag slung over her shoulder containing condoms, lube, and a spare pair of panties. She had stopped pretending this was just a reckless fling. She needed them. Their hands, their voices, their obsession — it had become her addiction.

Ramirez didn’t even try to argue this time. The moment he saw her approaching the isolation block, he simply unlocked the gate with a resigned sigh.

“They’re expecting you,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

The gate clanged shut behind her.

The three Rossi brothers were already standing at...