The whole issue escalated at that moment.
“I’ve told you already,” the woman snapped, arms crossed tightly across her chest. “This is private property. You have no business here.”
Before Dante could respond, the front door swung open.
A young man stepped out—early thirties, well-dressed, confidence clinging to him like perfume. His expression was irritated, sharp.
“What the hell is going on out here?” he demanded. “Why all this noise?”
The housekeeper rushed forward immediately.
“Sir, I’m sorry for the disturbance. It’s just this man—he keeps insisting on seeing you. Don’t worry, you can go back inside. I’ll call security and have him dragged out.”
But the man—Denver—was already staring at Dante. Slowly. Carefully. Like a predator sizing up inconvenience.
His lips curled.
“Causin
