The dungeon

The cold air of the dungeon shocked me awake. My head pounded from where the guards had slammed it against the stone wall, and my dry eyes struggled to adjust to the complete darkness surrounding me. Time had lost all meaning in this pit.

 I shifted on the hard ground, my body protesting with fresh waves of pain. My nose throbbed definitely broken this time. The metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth as I gingerly touched my swollen face.

 A quiet, broken laugh escaped my chapped lips. Here I was, worrying about making my shift at the club when I could barely stand. That paycheck was all that stood between me and starvation, but right now, survival meant enduring whatever punishment Father deemed necessary.

 The screech of rusted hinges shattered the silence. Blinding torchlight flooded the cell, forcing me to shield my eyes.

 "Still breathing, I see."

 Father's voice sent ice through my veins. Before I could react, his boot connected with my ribs. White-hot pain exploded through my side as I curled into myself, gasping for air.

 "Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" he snarled.

 I forced my head up, squinting against the light. Father's silhouette loomed over me, his face twisted in disgust.

 "Attacking your sister like some rabid animal," he spat. "In front of important guests. Antonio was horrified by your behavior."

 The mention of Antonio's name sent a fresh wave of pain through me sharper than any broken rib. Of course he'd taken Livia's side.

 Father gripped my chin, his fingers digging into my bruises. "You're lucky I don't leave you here to rot." He released me with a violent shove. "Get up. You're coming out."

 The servants' quarters welcomed me with familiar misery. My thin mattress, the cracked mirror, the stale bread left on my plate nothing had changed except the new bruises coloring my skin.

 A sharp rap at the door. "Shift starts in two hours," Rosa's voice sneered. "Don't be late."

 I dragged myself to the washbasin, the icy water stinging as I cleaned the blood from my face. My reflection stared back hollow eyed, lips cracked, a ghost of the girl I might have been.

 The club's neon lights burned my tired eyes as I tied my apron. Marco, the bartender, frowned at my injuries but said nothing. We both knew better than to ask questions.

 "Selene! Table six needs refills!" the manager barked.

 I grabbed my tray and wove through the smoky crowd, each step sending fire through my ribs. A drunk patron grabbed my wrist, his fingers pressing into fresh bruises.

 "Another round, sweetheart," he slurred.

 I forced a smile. "Right away."

 As I turned, movement in the VIP section caught my eye. Antonio and Livia our eyes met for one terrible moment before Livia whispered something that made him look away.

 The tray trembled in my hands as I walked back to the bar. The pain in my ribs was nothing compared to the knife twisting in my chest.

 Marco slid a glass of water toward me. "You should sit for a minute," he murmured.

 I shook my head. There was no rest for the broken. Only survival.

 My ribs still screamed with every breath, but I had learned to move silently through pain. The club's dim lighting hid the worst of my bruises the yellowing ones along my jaw, the fresh purple bloom across my collarbone. My uniform's high neckline helped.

 "You're favoring your left side."

 Mira, my only friend in this hellhole, appeared beside me at the bar, her dark eyes sharp with concern. She was the only one who ever noticed.

 "It's nothing," I murmured, stacking glasses onto my tray.

 She snorted, flicking a strand of her choppy blue hair behind her ear. "Bullshit. Your father?"

 I didn't answer. Didn't need to.

 Mira's jaw tightened. "Someday, I'm going to shove a broken bottle down that man's throat."

 A laugh startled out of me real, for once. "I'll hold him down for you."

 Marco slid two martinis toward us, his gaze darting to the VIP section. "Speaking of devils… Table Nine."

 My stomach dropped.

 Livia's laugh that high, tinkling sound that made men turn their heads cut through the bass-heavy music. And there they were my twin draped in couture, Antonio in a tailored suit that cost more than my life, their fingers entwined on the table like some sick trophy display.

 "I'll take it," Mira said, reaching for the tray.

 "No." My fingers clenched around the metal. "I'm not hiding."

 "Oh my God, Selene!" Livia's eyes widened with faux sympathy as I approached. "You look… are they working you to death here?"

 Her gaze raked over my cheap uniform, the faint shadow of bruises peeking above my collar. A predator scenting weakness.

 "What'll you have?" I asked flatly.

 Antonio shifted, his knuckles whitening around his whiskey glass. He hadn't looked at me directly since I walked over.

 "Champagne, obviously," Livia purred. "We're celebrating."

 "What's the occasion?" The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

 Her smile turned knife-sharp. "Our engagement."

 The tray wobbled in my grip.

 Antonio finally met my eyes just for a second and there it was guilt, swimming beneath the discomfort. "Liv, maybe don't—"

 "Oh, don't be shy, baby." Livia pressed a kiss to his cheek, her gaze locked on me. "Selene's happy for us. Aren't you?"

 The air thickened, pressing against my lungs. I could feel the other servers watching. Mira's tension from across the room.

 "Champagne," I repeated mechanically. "Coming right up."

 As I turned, Livia's foot "slipped," kicking my bad leg. The tray crashed to the floor, glass shattering like my composure.

 "Oops," she giggled.

 Antonio said nothing.

 The club's atmosphere shifted before I even saw them.

 A hush rolled through the crowd, the music suddenly too loud for the silence left in their wake.

 Two men walked in.

 The first was a mountain broad shouldered, his black shirt straining over muscles that spoke of violence. Dark hair, cropped short. A scar split one eyebrow, and his eyes…

 Gold.

 Not hazel. Not brown. Gold, like molten metal poured directly into his skull.

 The second was leaner, all elegant lines and predatory grace. Silver-blond hair brushed his shoulders, his sharp cheekbones catching the strobe lights. He wore a smirk like a weapon, his ice blue eyes scanning the room with detached amusement.

 Every head turned. Every breath hitched.

 "Holy shit," Mira whispered beside me. "That's Rafe Sokolov and Nikolai Petrov. Black Crescent Dons."

 I knew their names. Everyone did.

 What I didn't expect was the way the bigger one Rafe paused mid-step, his nostrils flaring as if scenting something.

 Then his gaze locked onto me.

 Heat exploded in my chest, sudden and foreign. My skin prickled, my pulse hammering like a trapped animal's.

 Nikolai followed his stare, one blond brow arching. "Well," he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. "Aren't you interesting?"

 Rafe took a step toward me

 just as Livia's shrill voice cut through the tension. "Antonio, those are the men Daddy wants you to meet!"

 The spell shattered.

 By the time I blinked, the Dons were gone, swallowed by the VIP shadows.

 But the heat in my veins remained.