The little red light on the ceiling blinks on. I shut myself up and back away from the glass, leaving him to drop away from it like a magnet without its partner.

It’s over. The moment of privacy is gone. We wasted it on my weakness, and now someone is watching while I’m half-naked and tear streaked.

Dario knows. He doesn’t have to look at the camera because he already sees the direction of my gaze. I remain exposed to the skin while he’s still dressed in the cold armor he wore when I came in.

“What did they make you do? What did they make you trade?”

He knows my people too well. Nothing is freely given.

“Not anything you care about.”

He isn’t soothed. “Anyone who touches you while I’m in here… remember who they are so I can murder them. I swear, Sarah. You’re my property.”

What if the camera light went on because it’s not just Massimo on the other side? What if it’s someone who can’t know what we mean to each other? One wrong word and I’ll be a traitor. Too much risk. Too much unknown. I have to tell Dario everything without saying anything.

“You told me you stole women from us, but you never told me where they ended up. You. Never. Told. Me.”

Gaze locked, our stare is strong enough to bend the partition that separates us. Instead of pushing back, one side of his mouth twitches into a smirk before settling into the hard line of the other side. His eyes both soften and harden, and I know I’ve been heard and understood.

“Because I’m not stupid,” he says. “I knew you’d run back here as soon as you could.”

“And here we are. Save yourself. Tell me.”

“I’ll tell you.” He lowers his arms and backs up. “There’s a place all the good ones go, and there’s a place the bad ones go. Which do you want me to tell you about first?”

I swallow hard. “The good ones.”

“Of course you do.” He gets close to the glass again, fogging it. “The ones with the sweet cunts go to a land with chocolate mountains and cotton candy clouds.”

“Dario, really. Please.”

“The bad ones go someplace so hot, their knees sizzle when they suck cock.”

“I hate you.” I can barely get the lie out.

“I own you. You’re my property. I don’t tell my fucking couch my business. If I own a gun, I shoot it. It doesn’t ask why. That’s not its job, and it’s not yours. Your job is to stay still when I hurt you. It’s to believe me when I tell you I love you, and to give me those big sad eyes when you realize I never did and never will.”