The tension in the study was suffocating.
Lana stood tall, her g*n aimed directly at Dean Menapoulis. The man who had stolen her freedom. The man who had hunted her down.
Dean, ever the strategist, remained unnervingly calm. His smirk was lazy, almost amused.
“You’ve come all this way, armed and dangerous.” He gestured to her g*n with an air of indifference. “Tell me, princesa, do you have it in you?”
Lana’s grip tightened. “Try me.”
A flicker of something dark passed through Dean’s eyes. He took a slow step forward, his hands loose at his sides—not reaching for a weapon, not calling for his guards.
“You think this ends with a bullet?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerous. “You shoot me, my men will tear you apart before you even reach the door. Your aunt? She never make
