Dante Vasconcelos had built an empire on control, but that night, standing alone in the glass-walled silence of his office, he discovered there were memories even power could not command.
The city below him glittered with the same cold arrogance he had worn like armor for most of his life. Towers of steel and light rose against the dark, each window a small square of ambition, secrets, exhaustion, and hunger. The Vasconcelos Group occupied the highest floors of the building, and for years Dante had believed altitude gave him clarity. From above, problems became numbers. Threats became files. People became decisions.
But Livia Andrade had never fit into any category.
He stood by his desk with his tie loosened, sleeves still buttoned, jacket abandoned over the back of a chair. The confron
