The massive oak doors of the foyer swung open with a heavy groan.
Two of Dante's guards dragged Leo inside, their massive hands locked mercilessly around his upper arms. They didn't bother being gentle. They practically threw him onto the pristine marble floor.
Leo hit the ground hard, gasping for air. He was a ruined man. His custom Brioni suit was plastered to his skin, dripping muddy rainwater onto the polished stone. His perfectly styled hair was matted to his forehead, and his eyes—the eyes I had once thought held the stars—were bloodshot, wild, and hollow.
I stood at the top of the sweeping grand staircase, looking down at him. I was wearing a silk emerald-green evening gown, a glass of vintage Bordeaux resting lightly in my hand. Beside me, leaning casually against the marble bal
