“Turn on the camera,” the boss woman ordered one of her men, and grabbed a handful of Anna’s hair. “Before you inflate your self-importance, you are just a chess piece to me.” She laughed, yanking Anna’s hair back. “I want your dear husband to beg for mercy.”Anna tensed, her breathing shallow, but still met the woman’s gaze without flinching. “Go ahead,” she snarled. “Do your worst.”Enraged, the boss woman nodded to her men. One opened a black case on the table, revealing a set of tools gleaming coldly under the overhead lamp: pliers, knives, and a small blowtorch. She lifted a pair of pliers, weighing them thoughtfully in her hand. “I always start with the fingers,” she said almost as if sharing a recipe. She gripped Anna’s right hand, forcing it flat against the table.With a swift motion, the woman closed the pliers around Anna’s pinky finger, nearly crushi
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