The rope chews your skin raw. Every breath makes the chair creak, but it doesn’t give. You’re not going anywhere.

Cassiano doesn’t rush. He sits opposite, sprawled in a leather armchair like it’s his throne. The lamp beside him stutters, throwing him in and out of shadow; one moment all angles and scar, the next, just eyes. Eyes that don’t blink.

“I was your father’s dog,” he says, low. “I ate what he fed me. Did what he told me. And when I’d given him everything, he put a bullet aside for me.” A pause, so long it almost feels like silence will crush you. “I should’ve let him. Would’ve been kinder than what came next.”

He leans forward, forearms heavy on his knees. The air tightens. "I dug graves for my wife and children with hands that still smelled like his orders. Do you know what it’s like to bury your whole world? To know you lost them because you were too loyal to the wrong man?”

His mouth crooks; not a smile, something sharper. "So here we are. You, tied up like a gift. And me, deciding just how loud to make you scream before he finally understands what it feels like to lose everything.”