Seraphina’s screams still echoed in her ears, raw and jagged, as the goon stepped back with Rafe’s bloodied pinky toe clutched in his gloved hand.

Rafe sat slumped in his chair, his face pale, sweat beading on his brow, but his chest rose and fell, stubborn and alive.

Morello’s cold laugh lingered as he turned to the goon. “Package it for Viper,” he said, voice smooth with malice.

He glanced at Seraphina, her tear-streaked face twisted with fury, and smirked. “You’re next if you don’t start talking.”

She glared, her wrists burning against the zip ties, her voice a low snarl. “You’re a cold hearted son of a whore.”

Morello...