At my birthday party, my husband tied me to a ceiling beam and whipped me thirty times because I had stained his mistress’s dress. “Maybe now you’ll learn your place,” he laughed while everyone watched. I didn’t cry. When they finally cut me down, I picked up my phone and called my five gangster brothers. “Make his entire family beg for mercy,” I whispered. Then the front gates suddenly slammed shut.

The courtroom was dead silent as the jury filed back into their seats.

Isaac stood at the defense table, his hands trembling so violently that the metal links of his belly chain clinked repeatedly against his orange jumpsuit. His eyes were wide with sheer, suffocating terror.

Julian stood at the prosecution table, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly in front of him.

The judge looked down at the jury foreperson. “Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?”

“We have, Your Honor,” the foreperson, a stern-looking middle-aged woman, announced.

She handed the official verdict sheet to the bailiff, who passed it up to the judge.

The judge scanned the paper, adjusted his glasses, and looked directly at Isaac.

“On count one, aggravated assault with a deadly weapon: Guilty.”

A sharp gasp rippled through the gallery.

“On count two, unlawful restraint and torture: Guilty.”

Isaac’s knees buckled, and his public defender had to grab his arm to keep him from collapsing onto the floor.

“On count three, attempted murder in the second degree: Guilty.”

Isaac burst into loud, hysterical blubbering, throwing his hands over his face. “No! No! Please! Your Honor, please! I’m sorry! Flora, save me!”

The judge slammed his wooden gavel down with deafening force.

“Silence in the court!” the judge roared. “Isaac Vance, your actions were atrocious, cold-blooded, and completely devoid of human morality. This court sentences you to twenty-eight years in the Washington State Maximum Security Penitentiary, without the possibility of parole for twenty years.”

Isaac let out a high-pitched scream as two heavy-set bailiffs grabbed his shoulders, forcing his arms behind his back and hauling him toward the side door leading to the holding cells.

He thrashed frantically, looking back at me sitting in the gallery.