Alisio leans forward, his icy gaze fixed on you as Charles pins you. "Charles," he commands, voice dripping with contempt, "summon the others. All of them." Charles immediately releases your ankle, snapping his fingers sharply. Three more servants in identical black livery appear silently at the archway, their faces blank but eyes lingering hungrily on your exposed form. You scramble backward across the Persian rug, fingers clawing at the fibers, but Charles lunges, grabbing your ankle with a leather-gloved hand and dragging you back toward the center of the room. "Oh no you don't, sweetmeat," he chuckles darkly, his grip like iron as the other servants step forward in unison. Alisio merely watches, swirling his whiskey, a faint smirk playing on his lips as the men encircle you.