58

FALLON The betrayal stings, and the walls seem to inch closer, suffocating me as the weight of the cuffs looms larger in my mind. No! The fear is almost palpable, feeding into the terror that clutches at my heart. “Come here,” Leone orders, his voice allowing no room for argument. My feet betray me, moving against my will, carrying me closer to the bed and the looming sense of confinement. “Sit,” Leone commands next, and I comply mechanically, clutching the towel—the only barrier between their gazes and my vulnerability. Leone takes my wrist, his touch both firm and chillingly impersonal, as he secures one cuff around it—the click of the lock slices through the heavy silence. “Can I have a shirt?” I ask in an attempt to preserve some dignity, but he ignores my request. Instead, he pushes me onto the bed and swiftly grabs my other wrist. Another click, another shackle, before he pulls a second set of cuffs from his back pocket, securing it to both the headboard and my wrists. I am once