Cassian POV
The Dungeon
The concrete floor was cold against my knees. My wrists, chained above my head, felt like they were being sawed in half by the iron cuffs. My gut wound throbbed in time with my heartbeat—a dull, sickening rhythm of infection and pain.
Beside me, Rook was in a similar state, though he knelt with the stoic silence of a statue.
In front of us, Luca sat on a folding chair, cleaning a speck of blood off his Italian leather loafer. He looked bored.
"The Governor is taking too long," Luca complained, checking his watch. "I have a club opening at midnight. I should just put a bullet in you now and tell him you tried to escape."
He raised his gun, aiming it at my kneecap.
"Any last words, Underboss?"
I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking at the gun. I looked at the small TV mounted on the wall—the feed Vittorio had set up to taunt us.
On the screen, Elena was standing at the podium. She looked terrified. Beautiful. And utterly cornered.
