The cool afternoon air of the city didn't quite settle Aria’s nerves. As they stepped out of the Grand Zenith, the echo of Tyler’s sobbing apology still rang in her ears.
She walked half a pace behind Dante, her eyes fixed on his back. He moved with a steady, rhythmic gait, his shoulders relaxed as if he hadn’t just dismantled a million-dollar legacy with a single phone call. There was no adrenaline in his posture, no lingering heat from the fight. To him, Tyler Vance wasn't an enemy; he was a fly that had been swatted.
Aria felt a strange, humming heat in her chest—admiration, sharp and dangerous, mixed with a growing sense that she was walking next to a god in human skin. She bit her lip, keeping her emotions locked away.
Dante stopped at the edge of the fountain. He turned to a group
