Three nights later, Sophia was back.
She moved through the prison corridors with practiced silence, her black hoodie zipped high and a small bag slung over her shoulder containing condoms, lube, and a spare pair of panties. She had stopped pretending this was just a reckless fling. She needed them. Their hands, their voices, their obsession — it had become her addiction.
Ramirez didn’t even try to argue this time. The moment he saw her approaching the isolation block, he simply unlocked the gate with a resigned sigh.
“They’re expecting you,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact.
The gate clanged shut behind her.
The three Rossi brothers were already standing at the front of their cells, eyes locked on her like wolves that had scented fresh prey.
Marco’s voice was low and rough with need
