The knock on her door came just as the afternoon light began to fade.

“Boss says to get ready,” Raphael’s voice echoed through the wood.

Camilia sat by the window, her fingers tracing the bruises still faintly visible around her neck. They had turned a dull purple, a cruel reminder of his hands and his rage.

She didn’t answer.

A few seconds later, Raphael spoke again. “You’re to come downstairs in fifteen minutes. The family’s expecting you.”

Family.

The word almost made ...