“Marcello… he—he tried,” she whispered through her haze, clutching desperately at his collar as though her life depended on it. “Secondo said… all the men would mark me. That they’d… have their way with me. Secondo, Isidoro, Orlando-he…” Her voice faltered, but the anguish in her eyes said enough.

The gathered men parted at once when Benedetto strode in, his expression dark and wrath etched deep into his features as he took in her broken state.

“Take her to my ...