Azzurra drew in a trembling breath, her grip on the knife so tight that the skin beneath her nails turned pale, her knuckles stark white with tension. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her gaze shifted to Maristella, who stood shaking, her face a mask of dread. Rinaldo held her in place, one arm twisted painfully behind her back as she struggled to stay upright, fear radiating from every inch of her.

“Go on,” Mattia drawled, casually shoveling another spoonful of food into his mouth. ...