phin

n's threat suffocating me. New York. The Commission. In two days, I would be paraded before Don Augusto Viti and the most rut

trapped within its walls. I closed my eyes, desperately searching the archiv

utfit. They called him *The Phantom*. He was a myth of absolute violence and unfathomable ruthlessness, a force that existed beyond the neat, controlled borders of Julian's world. I didn't know him. I

ldn't stop tomo

er me. If Julian needed a flawless, beautiful trophy to satisfy his ego and prove hi

p of the sedatives they forced upon me. I also knew the decor

and mixing it into the water I drank. In the months since I'd discovered the

cktail without a sing

n rug, my body seizing as a blistering fever spiked. Acid burned my throat as I violently retched, my vision tu

I th

id of death, but to the sharp

ed through the windows, painting the room in bruised purples. Julian stood at the foot of the bed,

n murmured, his voice devoid of any warmth. He

vy counter-agents the doctor was pumping into my bloodstream. I was a prisoner in m

ked clothes and wrestled me into a heavy, suffocating designer dress. They painted over

," Julian

grips bruising my upper arms. My legs dragged uselessly across the carpet as the

ing to swallow me. The Soldiers shoved me into the expansive leather backseat. Julian slid in beside me, immacul

and the rising sun. The engine purred to life, and the SUV glided smoothly down the