The secondary hideout was a dank, windowless room, its concrete walls stained with mold and old blood. Seraphina sat bound to a metal chair, her wrists raw from zip ties, her cheek throbbing from a fresh bruise. Rafe was beside her, his face bloodied, one eye swollen shut, but his grin flickered, defiant despite the beating he’d taken.

Morello stood before them, his polished shoes clicking on the floor, his dark eyes cold with impatience. Two goons flanked behind him, one was twirling a knife, the other cracking his knuckles like he couldn't wait to use them.

Seraphina's mind flashed to Dante’s mansion, to nights spent locked in her room,...