Nora brought white roses when she visited me in the hospital. She fumbled with the flowers, accidentally tipping over the vase and spilling water everywhere.

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Natalie," she babbled, scrambling to clean up the mess. "I didn't mean to do that."

"It's fine," I said, even though nothing really was.

She sat down, nervously fiddling with the edge of her skirt. It was a fancy Chanel, a present from Francis, but I was the one who had picked it out. "Natalie, have you and Francis been at it again?"

"We're always arguing," I answered.

"However, this seems different," Nora said, her eyes filled with concern. "He's been in such a foul mood. He even trashed his study yesterday."

The thought of Francis breaking stuff was hard to picture. He was scary when mad, sure, but he usually kept his cool and did not wreck things.

"Why?" I asked, taken aback.

Nora hesitated, then whispered, "It's because of Mr. Collins."

Bernard Collins: heir to a rival family, Francis' supposed friend, but the man was really his competitor.

I had an idea of what Bernard had done.

More than once, Bernard had tried to charm me, telling Francis he would give up some turf if I joined the Collins family.

However, I knew it was not about romance. To guys like them, power was always more important than love.

Bernard must have made another play for me.

Francis, with his crazy need to keep me, would never let me go.

I knew how this would end.

"Mr. Collins has been kind to you," Nora murmured. "He even asked if you wanted help...help getting away."

I eyed her cautiously. "Did you tell Francis?"

"No!" Nora was quick to deny it. "I wouldn't rat you out. However, Natalie...if you really want out, I'm here for you."

I stared at her, at the innocence in her young face.

At the age of 20, she was supposed to be in college, experiencing first loves and lively parties, not caught up in the mafia's brutal power struggles. Yet there she was, having chosen this life, or more accurately, having been pulled into it by Francis.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked.

Nora looked down, her voice soft. "Because I know...you're unhappy."

She hesitated. "Just like me."

That night, Francis showed up with dinner in hand, my favorite spaghetti from the old downtown joint. He perched on the edge of the bed, flipped open the box, and twirled a forkful of noodles, offering it to me.

"Have a bite."

I turned my head away.

He set the fork down with a sigh. "Natalie, can't we just talk?"

"About what? How are you going to keep controlling me with drugs? Or about your upcoming wedding to Nora?"

"That wedding is just business," Francis explained. "Her dad owns the ports in Westcliff. I need access to those docks."

"So you're marrying her," I said flatly.

He reached for my hand, his grip firm. "It's all for show. You're the one I really want."

I tried to shake him off, but he would not let go. "You want a puppet who'll nod and smile. However, now the puppet's strings are cut, and you're freaking out."

Francis' expression turned icy. "I'm not freaking out."

"Then why switch my meds?" I asked, a challenge. "You're terrified. Terrified that without those drugs, I'll realize I don't love…"

His response was to kiss me, a fierce, angry kiss. I fought back, but he held me by the nape of my neck, deepening the kiss until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. He had bitten my lip.

It was a kiss unlike any other in the ten years I had known him, fueled by both lust and a need to punish.

When he finally released me, we were both panting.

"You love me," Francis said, locking eyes with me, each word deliberate as if willing it to be true. "You'll keep loving me. The drugs are irrelevant."

I could not help but laugh. "Francis, who are you kidding?"

Francis acted like he did not hear me. He just stood up and smoothed out his suit. "You're getting out tomorrow. Come stay at my place."

"That's not my home," I said.

"It's been your home since you were 15," he said, pausing at the door with a stern look. "Natalie, don't test my patience. You know what happens when you do."

With that, he was gone.

I sat there on the bed, wiping the blood that had trickled from my lip.

I knew the consequences all too well.

My first night back at the Davis estate, sleep was a stranger.

The withdrawal hit hardest in the dead of night.

Curled up in bed, I shook with chills, my pajamas drenched in cold sweat. Memories assaulted me: my dad getting shot, my mom's last scream, the red liquid Adrian handed me...

I remembered my first kill at 18: a traitor. Francis had shoved a gun in my hands and said, "Show your loyalty."

I pulled the trigger, and the bullet found its mark.

I spent that night throwing up, while Francis sat silently by my bed, patting my back with a tenderness that then felt like a distant memory.

At 3:00 a.m., I stumbled to the kitchen for water. As I passed the study, I overheard Francis talking.

"I refuse to believe she doesn't love me, that all these years mean nothing to her," he said.

I froze outside the door.

The butler's voice came through, saying, "Don't rush it, Don. After the wedding, you'll have all the time in the world to shape her."

"I can't wait that long," Francis replied, his voice icy. "She's getting out of hand, talking back to me, today of all days."

The medicine's magic had faded, and the butler knew it. "She'll be back, begging for more when the pain's too much," he said.

However, Francis was pensive. "And if she doesn't beg?"

With a weary sigh, the butler said, "Then, Don, you'll have to handle her. Just like her parents."

Francis' voice sharpened. "Are you asking for trouble?"

"I misspoke, Don. It's just... Ms. Stewart might turn on us. However, you can always lock her up in the basement. Maybe even start a family. She'll come around eventually."

My fingers clawed into the wooden doorframe, splinters biting into my skin.

I should have seen that coming. Francis would do anything to keep me under his thumb.

The next morning, Nora's knock was soft but urgent. "Natalie, get ready. Francis wants you at the club tonight."

"No way," I said.

"He insists. You're going." Nora stepped in, voice hushed as she said, "Mr. Collins will be there too. He said...it's your chance."

I eyed her. "Chance for what?"

"Your ticket out." She slipped me a note with an address and a time. "Stick to the plan."

I gripped the note, nodding once.

...

The Davis family's club was a playground for the high-stakes crowd, a haven for the allied families' vices.

Francis held court at the poker table, a redhead on one arm, Nora on the other. Nora's dress left little to the imagination. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes darted around, restless.

I hung back at the bar, nursing a glass of water. Bernard sidled up next to me.

"Holding up okay?" he asked.

"Still kicking."

Bernard fell silent for a moment before asking, "Did Nora give you the stuff?"

"Uh-huh." I gave a noncommittal grunt, not elaborating further.

Bernard let out a wry chuckle. "If Francis ever learns the truth, he'll hunt me down no matter where I go."

I turned to face him. "You don't have to help me, you know."

There was a touch of sympathy in Bernard's eyes. "I really admire you, but I think you're in deep trouble... And I'm not talking about the physical aspect because Francis really cares about you."

"I don't want his care."

I glanced over at Francis, who was seated at the head of the table. He was watching Bernard and me with a brooding look. I could not tell how long he had been observing us.

Out of the blue, Francis said, "Bernard, let's make a thrilling bet."

Bernard arched an eyebrow. "On what?"

"The drug supply chain in Westborough," Francis said.

"Ha! You know that's not what I'm after." Bernard turned to look at me, and all eyes followed. "If I win, Natalie's mine for the night."

The music continued, but the atmosphere turned icy.

Francis' expression was dark as he looked at Bernard, then at me standing by his side.

He forced a laugh after a tense moment.

"Alright, I'll give you a shot. Win, and you can take her with you."

His gaze lingered on me. I knew he was waiting for my reaction, eager to see me crumble, to see me plead.

However, he was bound to be disappointed.

I set down my glass of water and approached the card table. "What do I need to do, sir?"

His expression grew even darker. "Are you in for this bet?"

"I'll leave it to your discretion," I answered.

That response seemed to infuriate him. I could see his grip on his wine glass tighten, his knuckles turning white.

"Fine, let's bet."

The cards were dealt, and the game was on. I did not get the rules of the game, but the vibe? That I could read like an open book.

Everyone was as still as statues, barely breathing.

Francis' grin was chilling, while Bernard's face turned to stone.

The final card hit the table. Bernard had it.

Francis gave a round of applause.

"Awesome," he said, standing up. He strolled over to me, his hand heavy on my shoulder, his grip tight enough to grind bone. "Time to hang out with Mr. Collins. Have fun tonight."

Bernard slung his arm around me. "We're getting out of here."

I walked out with him, not daring to glance back.

I could feel Francis' eyes drilling into me, like lasers trying to zap through my spine.

Once we were in the car, Bernard broke the silence. "He's playing games. He wants you to grovel."

"Yeah, I get it," I muttered.

"So, where to?" the driver asked.

Bernard shot me a look. I rattled off the address from the scrap of paper.

We had not made it far when a blast of headlights flooded our view. Francis' ride was on us in a flash, screeching to a halt right in front.

He stormed out, his face a thundercloud.

"Mr. Collins!" he roared. "Where do you think you're taking her?"

Bernard stepped up, shielding me. "I won fair and square; she's mine."

"She belongs to me." Francis glared at me. "Natalie, come here."

I stayed put.

That was when the night exploded with the sound of a gunshot.

A bullet sliced through the dark, gunning for Francis.

"Hit the deck!" I shoved him down hard.

The bullet ripped through me instead, and I collapsed on him. His eyes went wide, real terror flickering there for the first time.

"Natalie…"

Gunfire answered back. Bernard's crew was not having it.

The world started to spin, pain crashing over me like a wave.

Francis' voice was calling my name, fading into the distance.

Then, everything went black.

...

When I came to, I was in a hospital bed, every inch of me screaming in pain. Breathing was like being stabbed over and over. However, even worse than the bullet wound was the withdrawal: the drugs had their claws in me, and they were not letting go without a fight. My body shook uncontrollably, my hospital gown was drenched in cold sweat, and my lips were raw from biting them too hard.

Voices drifted in from outside the room: Francis and Nora.

"She'll pull through." Francis' voice was cool, laced with a sneer. "She loves me. She can't live without me."

"However, sir, she seems to be in a lot of pain." Nora's voice was barely a whisper.

"Pain?" Francis' laugh was sharp and icy. "The antidote's got its own poison. I'm switching her to something else to keep her alive longer. What's a little pain compared to death?"

Their footsteps trailed off.

I lay there, my gaze fixed on the ceiling as the pain grew and my sanity started to crumble.

I wanted to scream, to beg him for the drugs, to go back to that stupid, numb peace I once knew.

However, I could not.

The door swung open. Francis walked in, the small silver bottle glinting in his hand.

He looked worn out: dark circles under his eyes and a rough stubble on his chin. He sat down beside me, watching as I writhed in agony.

"Pretty bad, huh?" he asked.

"Medicine…" That was all I could manage to gasp out.

"Tell me you need me," he whispered, brushing my damp hair from my forehead. "Not the drugs. Me. Say it, and it's yours."