Chapter 2

I'm dumped in the corner of his private jet, on the carpet, wrapped in a black robe one of his men threw at me.

The cold is in my bones. My body convulses on its own. My teeth clack so hard I think they'll crack.

Matteo sits on the leather couch across from me, a glass of red wine in his hand.

He watches me shake on the floor. For one second, something almost like guilt flickers in his eyes.

The tip of his shoe nudges my shoulder.

"Enough. Stop playing pitiful. You passed the test. Half-passed, anyway."

"You made yourself filthy, but at least you did it for me. When we land, you'll get cleaned up. I'll bring in the best doctors. The wedding goes ahead next month."

I don't even flinch.

Wedding.

He throws me into hell, watches me get torn apart, then wants to put a ring on me.

It's so absurd I almost laugh.

"What? Stunned by your good luck?" His brow knots when I don't answer.

He crouches down and reaches for my chin.

I turn my face away.

"Don't touch me."

His hand freezes mid-air.

His face drops like a stone.

"Cora Lane. Don't push me. You know what you are right now? A used-up piece of trash a hundred men have been through. I'm still willing to marry you. You should be grateful I haven't tossed you in the river."

I open my eyes slowly. Meet his glare. The pity in it. The charity.

"Matteo. You actually think if you snap your fingers, I'll crawl back and lick your shoe?"

"You—" He shoots up to his feet.

Right on cue, Vanessa walks over with a glass of warm milk. She steps around me and hands the glass to Matteo.

"Babe, don't waste your breath. Her head's not right yet."

She turns to me. Smiles.

"Cora, sweetie. Matteo's been so good to you. Where's the gratitude? On those nights they had you strung up on the cross — didn't you think of Matteo at all?"

Matteo's face goes white.

His eyes come back to me, and this time there's no hiding the revulsion.

Vanessa pulls out her phone right on schedule.

"Matteo… I didn't want to show you this. I have a contact who works the block. He sent me something. I was going to delete it — I didn't want to dirty your eyes. But the way she's acting…"

She lets it hang.

Matteo snatches the phone out of her hand.

Security footage. High definition.

Me. Naked. Roped to a massive iron cross. Oil slicked over every inch of me, glittering under the lights.

Below the stage, a dozen rich bastards screaming and tossing bets. Some of them howling like animals.

A huge man climbs up holding an electric whip. He's laughing as he brings it down across the inside of my thighs. Current rips through me. My body jackknifes. The sound I make doesn't even sound like me.

Then he puts his shoe on my face and makes me lick his shoe clean.

It goes on.

Smack.

Matteo hurls the phone straight into my face.

The screen shatters. Glass slices my forehead. Blood pours down instantly.

"Cora!" His voice cracks — fury, and something worse, disgust so deep it's almost grief.

"You filthy bitch— you let those old bastards do that to you? You make me sick. You make me physically sick."

I lie there. Blood runs into my eyes. The world turns red.

I look at his twisted face and find I don't have a single word left to say.