“Kayla, sirts, this will be over as soon as you answer my questions truthfully,” he said.

His voice had changed, and I sensed an undercurrent that hadn’t been there before.

Used all of my power not to look at the tray that he had in the corner.

Me not looking didn’t make a difference.

He looked over to the place I had been avoiding. “You’re concerned about my… supplies?”

“Should I be?” I asked.

I had wanted to keep the fear out of my voice but was powerless to do so.

And besides, what would saving face do for me when I was dealing with a man like Armen?

Not very much.

So, if showing some of my fear, playing to his sympathy—not that I thought he had such a thing—would get me out of here, I would do that.

Because pride was cold, cold comfort when I was staring in the face of this.

And I wasn’t exactly sure what this was.

He kept asking what I knew.

I kept telling him nothing.

But the more I denied it, the more determined he seemed to become.

Something told me this had less to do with me and more to do with Armen and his family.

Personally, I didn’t give a fuck about the politics of the Armenian mafia, Armen’s relationship with his sons, or any feelings he might have about them usurping him.

But then I reminded myself that what I cared about, what mattered to me, hadn’t been important for a very, very long time.

That wasn’t going to change today.

“Kayla—”

Armen cut off when he heard a thud.

Then he stood still, listening.

I saw when he dismissed what he had heard.

“My men will take care of whatever that is. I’ve instructed them we’re not to be disturbed,” he said. “They offered to handle this…conversation for me, but I turned them down. I wanted to make sure you are treated with care.”

The fear that trickled down my spine was like a physical sensation, and the breakfast that Armen had forced me to eat again threatened to make its way back up.

I swallowed it back, wanting to wear it even less than I’d wanted to eat it.

And I suspected Armen wasn’t so much of a gentleman that he would get me fresh clothes if I did lose my breakfast, so I prayed my stomach settled and braced myself for more blows.

The next series of slaps made me clench my teeth, an effort to stop the sting in my face.

An effort that failed.

And to add insult to injury, I felt a trickle of blood slide down my chin and was powerless to wipe it away.