Shirley
I knew something was wrong with Dante. He was carrying it in his shoulders, tight and rigid, in the way his eyes lingered too long at shadows, in how his hand went to his gun or his phone every time there was the slightest noise. The more I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, the worse it ate at me.
He thought he was being subtle. He wasn’t.
So I decided, quietly, to do what I had always done when the men in my life tried to shield me from truths they thought I couldn’t handle—I would find out for myself.
It wasn’t easy, not with Dante watching me like a hawk. But during the day, when he went out with Talon and a few others on “runs” that were supposed to be routine, I took the chance to poke around. Zara noticed first, of course.
“You’re snooping,” she said flatly as she le
