Din glided down the staircase, eyes glued to his phone. His finger tapped hastily on the message Claret had said 5 minutes ago.
‘The officers are here.’
His leather jacket hung open, white vest on the inside exposed. Keys jingled in one hand as he made straight into the foyer. His shoes slapped hard against the floor as he headed for the door.
His feet clicked back, he stopped short.
Dante sat at the mini-bar just before the foyer, alone. He looked like he was having the best time of his life.
One leg crossed over the other. Newspaper with bold headlines in his hand. Crystal glass on the short stool, amber liquid catching the low light. A thin cigar almost burned out between his fingers. Smoke curled slowly toward the ceiling.
Din’s stomach clenched.
He turned. Walked towards him.
