Page 9 of Brutal Queen

Enzo, branded with deep welts and burns.

The images are prolific. All depicting a different torture. A fresh torment.

Aurora’s wail has receded to harrowing whimpers as each image scrolls by, the sound permeating my shock, and only then do I notice that tears are streaming down my face.

My mind is whirring.Enzo is alive!However, any joy at that thought is being drowned in a tsunami of dread and fear.

Just because hewasalive doesn’t mean he’sstillalive.

This could simply be another way to hurt us, hurt Aurora. Yet more torture for us to endure.

Doubts creep to the forefront of my mind, wondering if we got him back now, how much of him would still be left? Wouldhe be too far gone to save? The pictures depict a hell I doubt I’d be able to survive. I’d try for Aurora’s sake, but six weeks at Max’s mercy is a long time.

I have no clue how Aurora endured four years.

My body hums with warring emotions, not sure whether to break into pieces or erupt with molten-hot rage.

I click back to the email and scroll down, realising Aurora had only opened one of many links. The next one opens a video file. My heart beats so hard in my chest that it feels like it’s trying to break through my rib cage as dread pools in my stomach, leaving a foul taste in my mouth.

“I have a gift for you,principessa.”The chilling sound of Max’s soulless voice echoes through the laptop speakers.

Aurora’s hand shoots out and pauses the video.

“We need to get Nico and Benedict. Whatever he has to say, I can’t listen to it twice and they need to hear it too.” Her voice is quiet, and the cadence betrays the effort it’s taking to hold herself together. I pull my phone out of my pocket and text the group chat.

Rory’s office, NOW.

I close the video and reopen the email. Seconds later, they’re both walking through the door, and I can tell by the way Rory’s shoulders drop that their presence is easing her tension. Benedict is first through the door with a smile on his face, but as soon as he takes in her ashen complexion, worry creeps across his face.

She turns into me and whispers, “You tell them. I can’t”

I twitch my head to the side to get them to position themselves where they can see the screen. Benedict leans on Aurora’s desk to our left, and Nico wraps his arm around his waist. I’m not sure if it’s to comfort Benny or to prepare himself forwhat we’re about to show him. Either way, Nico’s brows are drawn in a deep furrow of wariness.

“I don’t know where the fuck to start, and there’s no way to prepare you for this,” I say, already dreading their reactions.

Benny crumbles as soon as he sees the image frozen on the screen. “This is my fault. I should never have blown the basement.” His words are quiet, strangled by the weight of his misplaced guilt.

“It’s no one's fault but Max’s,” Aurora snarls, swiping away her tears.

“He was alive?Fuck, is he still alive?” Nico says with a desperate roar, seemingly overtaken by a mix of rage and panic.

“There’s more. You’re going to need to prepare yourselves,” I add, the gravel in my voice doing nothing to hide the agony I’m feeling.

Nico holds Benny a little tighter and I catch the moment they both squeeze their eyes tight, trying to build up walls we all know are about to be torn right back down. Nico reluctantly nods his head as I poise the mouse over the link to the video.

The screen is filled with darkness for a moment before Max comes into shot, lit by the glow of his phone, which casts oppressive and malevolent shadows across his sharp features. His lips twist in a cruel smile.

“I have a gift for you,principessa. It’s way past time for you to be disciplined for your petulance. While I have enjoyed playing with your little pet, your churlish outburst last night can’t go unpunished, and he’s going to pay the price you owe.”

A soft whimper escapes her lips before Aurora whispers, “What have I done?”

I grip her waist tightly, trying to reassure her in some way but having no clue what I can say to make any of this better.

“I thought long and hard about the best way to make sure youlearned your lesson this time. Moretti is a poor imitation, and I tire of him, but there’s no satisfaction in making his end quick and painless. You need to understand that every second of his agony is your fault.”

“Fucking psychopath,” Benedict cries as Max’s face disappears and a curtain of bright light floods the screen. “I’m going to rip his heart out through his asshole when I get my hands on him.”

The next part shows Max in the back of a box truck. The shutter is rolled up with a loud rumble to reveal a grimy-looking street, somewhere industrial, bordered by hulking warehouses with smashed windows. Two men climb into the van and Max angles the camera so that we can see into the dim corners of the space. They lean down, hooking their arms under a body and hoisting it between them like a broken doll. Their head is covered with a bloodied hessian sack, chest bare, and legs hanging like dead weights in blood-stained grey sweats.

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