ELARA

The heavy iron door clicked shut behind me, sealing out the damp, gasoline-scented air of the Bronx and locking me into a world where the rules of the Vance empire no longer applied.

I followed a silent, masked attendant down a narrow corridor lined with peeling wallpaper and the faint, metallic scent of industrial cleaner. My heels clicked rhythmically against the concrete, a sharp sound that still couldn't drown out the pounding of my heart.

The processing room was small, lit by a single, buzzing fluorescent bulb. And of course, he was right there— my prized possession, seated on a steel bench, his hands cuffed loosely in front of...