“I’m not fucking stupid,” she snaps furiously. “I know it’s not my fault. But they didn’t rape me. They didn’t get the chance, so I guess I have you both to thank for that. Oh wait, you put me in a situation where they could get to me in the first place, so maybe not.”

I know she’s scared. What happened has terrified her more than she’ll ever admit to us or maybe even to herself. And she’s right—we don’t deserve her gratitude.

She looks back and forth between us. “Where are they?”

“You don’t have to worry about them. We’ll take care of them.”

“They’re your soldiers.”

“That’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Our uncle has men who are still loyal to him,” I tell her.

She studies me, then Amadeo but doesn’t ask any questions.

“They won’t hurt you again. You don’t have to worry about them,” Amadeo says.

“How can you be sure?” she asks us.

“I’m sure because they will be executed this morning,” I answer her.

For a moment, she seems surprised by this. Or perhaps it’s the violence of what is to come. I don’t know. This is our world. I need to remember it’s not hers. Even if it was her father’s and her brother’s, she has been shielded from it.

She searches my eyes, a line forming between her eyebrows.

“For fuck’s sake, please tell me it’s not pity you feel for them,” I say.

“Oh no, it’s not pity,” she says, looking determined. Any vulnerability is gone, and a strange, almost unhinged sheen comes over her eyes. “I want to be there.”

Amadeo and I glance at each other. He has an eyebrow raised, and I’m sure my expression matches his.

“I mean it,” she says, her voice cold. “I want to be there. I have a right.”

“No, Dandelion.”

“I want to see. I’m owed that, don’t you think? After what they did to me?”

“She has a point,” I say.

Amadeo shakes his head. “Violence like what they’ll suffer you won’t be able to forget—”

“I won’t forget the violence I already suffered. At least I can know they got what they deserved.”

“Vittoria,” Amadeo starts but stops when she slides her legs over the side of the bed and stands, wincing when she puts weight on her feet. He takes a step toward her, but she shakes her head and pushes through the pain. I have a feeling this girl would walk over hot coals to get what she wants. I’m right. She may be broken but whatever happened to her made her strong. It made her a survivor.

“I need to see it done,” she says to me, perhaps sensing an ally. She comes to stand at my side and turns to Amadeo. “I need it.”