Vicenzo’s POV

The man trembled on his knees, blood still dripping from the half-bandaged wound on his side. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes held a kind of loyalty I hadn’t seen in a while—not the empty loyalty bought with fear, but the kind born of desperation and belonging.

“Get him cleaned up,” I said after a long silence, my voice sharp enough that the guards jumped at the order. “He was one of our best men before all this. I don’t want him rotting away like trash. See ...