Delilah's POV
I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough for my tears to slow, for my breathing to even out, for the numbness to set in where the pain had been.
The packhouse door opened and I tensed, expecting Patricia or another staff member coming to tell me to leave.
But it wasn't staff.
Dante stepped out into the night, followed by Mateo, and they were both smiling.
"Well, well," Dante said, walking closer until he stood over me. "That was quite a performance, step-sister."
Mateo laughed and pulled something from his pocket. A stick. Thin and wooden, the kind used for cocktail garnishes.
"Almost felt bad using it," Mateo said, twirling the stick between his fingers. "Almost."
They'd kept it. The weapon they'd used to poke me. A trophy of my humiliation.
"You should've see
