The chains rattled every time Mateo tried to move. His wrists were tied above his head, his body strung up in the basement like some traitor dragged from the streets. Blood dripped slowly from his lip onto the stone floor, the sound steady, mocking.

He forced himself to breathe evenly, not to show weakness. That was rule one in Ricardo’s world, never let them see you break.

The basement door creaked open. A figure stepped in. Ricardo.

His tailored suit looked almost obscene in this damp, dark ...