“What are they?”

“Aspirin. Unless you want something stronger.”

She takes the pills and swallows them with some water, then drains the whole glass. “What did you give me last night?”

“Just a sedative to relax you.”

“It knocked me out.”

“We needed to pick the glass out, and you were pretty out of it.”

She drops her gaze, then pushes a hand into her hair.

“Hey. You’re all right, Dandelion.”

She snorts, then looks up at me. “Why did you help me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

She shrugs a shoulder.

“You mean why didn’t we let them rape you?” The word triggers a visceral response from her. “What do you think we are? Dogs?”

“He said you ordered it. You and your brother. Was I supposed to learn a lesson?”

My hands fist at my sides. “Who said that?”

“I don’t know his name. The one who brought me down.”

“Well, he fucking lied.” I hear the anger in my voice. The silence that follows is broken by Amadeo when he walks in. We both turn to look at him. He’s freshly showered but looks like shit. Like he didn’t sleep all night.

“Morning.” His forehead is furrowed as he takes her in. “How do you feel?”

She doesn’t bother to answer him but glares instead. “If last night is any indication of how your protection works, I want out. I want Emma out. Now.”

His jaw tightens. “It won’t happen again.”

“And I should just believe you?”

“They’ll be punished. This morning.”

“I want out!”

“That can’t happen, and you know it.”

She shakes her head, the whites of her eyes growing pink as they fill with tears she is quick to wipe away.

“Do we need to call a doctor in, Vittoria?” I ask, changing the subject.

“What?”

I glance at Amadeo, then turn back to her. “Did they… hurt you? Touch you?”

She stares up at me, all wide eyes and innocence. And fuck. I don’t want to feel anything for her but hate. I try to tell myself it’s pity, but I know better. Something inside me wants to protect her. A thing that feels she’s mine to protect.

I stand by what I said to Amadeo last night. She is strong—a survivor—and something dark made her that. I know it in my gut. And I’m guessing that missing year Amadeo mentioned is it.

When she’s quiet longer than I like, I feel my muscles tighten. Feel a rage build inside me.

“Did they touch you?” I say through my teeth.

She shakes her head and hugs her knees, pressing her eyes into them I assume to stop the inevitable tears.

“Are you sure?” Amadeo asks, clearly confused by how she answered. “You understand it’s not your fault—”