Chapter 2

Eva’s POV

After sharing a smoke, Snake ordered his men to wheel me in.

Rough hands yanked me from the back seat and shoved me into a cart. We rolled through a set of doors and straight into a private suite.

Some man tossed me onto a sofa—the armrest slammed into my waist, knocking the breath from my lungs.

“The Don here yet?” Snake asked.

“Just arrived,” someone answered quietly. “He’s greeting clients downstairs.”

“Then we wait.”

Miles sat beside me, leaning close. “I know you’re awake, Eva,” he whispered. “Please. Don’t make a scene. Just help me this once. I’ll come get you tomorrow, okay?”

“Fuck you,” I murmured.

“What?” He leaned closer.

For the first time, my strength came back enough to carry my voice. “Fuck you. I won’t do it.”

Snake turned, his eyes narrowing. “What’s going on?”

Miles clapped a hand over my mouth. “Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just teaching my girlfriend to appreciate what a good deal this is.”

Snake looked me over. “Good. If she acts like this in front of my Don, we’re all wasting our time.”

He turned away.

Miles snapped. His hand came down hard across my face. “I already told you—once we’re in the casino, don’t try anything,” he hissed. “Do exactly as I say, or things will only get worse from here.”

For a split second, I saw it—something wild and unhinged in Miles’s eyes. I didn’t even recognize him anymore.

My mouth moved before my mind could catch up. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

I knew better than to challenge a desperate man—but I was so angry. I couldn’t believe my own boyfriend was offering me to another man like some kind of dessert.

If this Don wasn’t my brother… then whatever was going to happen to me tonight was unthinkable.

“Don’t slap her,” Mr. Snake said lazily from the side. “If you ruin her face, what’s my Don supposed to look at?”

“I’m—” I barely got the word out before Miles clamped a hand over my mouth.

“Be quiet,” he warned.

Snake gave me a fleeting glance. “Good. Keep her quiet—and make sure she behaves. I don’t want any unnecessary noise coming from our suite.”

Miles turned at the suggestion. Whatever softness he once had was gone. All I saw now was a stranger—crazy-eyed, calculating how to hurt me without leaving marks.

“I’ll ask you one last time, Eva,” he said quietly. “Will you help me or not?”

He leaned closer. “Think of it like sleeping with me. Just another man. We’re all the same, right? Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

I stared at Miles, didn’t give him any response. I was so done with him. It was time to get out of here.

My fingers twitched, searching for the bracelet.

Nothing.

My heart dropped. I must’ve lost it on the way here.

I scanned the room—no sign of it.

“You asked for this, Eva,” Miles snapped. “Don’t blame me.”

He stood, grabbed a bottle, and smashed it down on my ankle.

Pain exploded through me. I cried out despite myself, glass biting deep into my skin. Blood spread fast, hot and sticky.

Mr. Snake chuckled. “Looks like our pretty girl still has some fight.”

Miles took it as encouragement. “I don’t want to do this,” he said, eyes locked on mine. “Just say yes. We can end this.”

I swallowed the scream burning in my throat. “I will never help you, Miles, go to hell.”

“Bitch.” His gaze shifted—from my ankle to my hands. I knew what he was thinking before he moved.

“No—”

He picked up the knife from the table and stepped closer, slow and deliberate.

“If you’re still this stubborn,” he murmured, “how about we take a few fingers? That’ll teach you to behave.”

The blade caught the light.

“Wasn’t your dream to be a pianist, babe?” he asked softly. “Tell me—if you lose a finger or two… can you still play?”

“No,” I said, my voice shaking despite myself. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Becoming a pianist was everything to me. That dream was why I’d left my family behind, why I lived alone in Boston.

Miles wouldn’t do it. He wasn’t that much of a monster.

But I clearly underestimated him. Miles smiled like a sick, twisted bastard as he stepped closer, the knife hovering just above my skin.

“Come on,” Snake drawled. “Don’t make a mess. We still have to show her to my Don. Just break her finger.”

“No!” I screamed. “Don’t touch my hands!”

Miles paused. “I won’t,” he said, “if you promise to help me. Make Mr. Snake’s Don happy.”

This time, I didn’t press. Instead, I asked quietly, “Are you even sure his Don would want me?”

“Not like this of course,” Snake said, tilting his head. He waved his men forward. “Take her to change. And—” his gaze swept over me, “—put her in something prettier. What is she wearing, her grandma’s Christmas special?”

A burly man yanked me up and dragged me toward the bathroom. Miles followed, watching me closely, suspicious of my sudden compliance.

“I can walk,” I said, shaking free and stumbling forward.

Miles lost patience. He grabbed my arm and slammed me against the bathroom door. “Don’t try anything,” he warned. “Play along, and we all walk out of here. Otherwise—”

He dragged a finger across his throat.

I opened the door and limped inside, my ankle screaming with every step.

The mirror stopped me cold.

The makeup I’d done so carefully—just for Miles, for his family—was ruined. Tears streaked down my face. Several red slap marks stood out against my skin.

When I didn’t move, Miles shoved me forward, forcing my head down into the sink. He turned on the faucet, letting cold water rushing over my face. I struggled, choking, but he was stronger. When he finally let go, I was gasping, shaking.

My face was bare now. But the slap mark still showed.

Miles pulled a dress from the bag and tossed it at me.

“Put this on,” he said. “Mr. Snake says his Don likes this kind of thing.”

I held it up. It wasn’t a dress—it was a strip of fabric pretending to be one, barely covered the front, nothing on the back. I would never wear something like this. It was humiliating.

But Miles didn’t wait.

He lunged for the dress I was already wearing and started tearing it apart.

“What are you doing?!”

“Helping you get dressed, of course,” he said, voice flat as his hands ripped the seams. “You’re taking too long, Eva.”

“No! Don’t touch me!” I fought back, but Miles only slapped me again, hard.

“Oh, Eva, don’t act all noble now. Everyone knows you’re a whore—just too damn proud to admit it.” He reached out to flip a stray of my hair behind my ear, “Why else would I chase you? Because of your fancy dreams? Your pretty little piano playing?”