The wine sat between us, reflecting the chandelier lights in a crimson sheen. The heat from his eyes burned through me, observing my every move from the expression on my face to the slightest twitch of my fingers.
I didn't move. I couldn't.
If I reached for the glass, he might read into it. If I didn't, he might read into it even more.
Angelo Hera is good at setting traps and if I'm not careful, I might just fall right into one.
I cleared my throat, louder than I intended. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, my voice hoarse and thin.
“Because I wonder which you fear more, Lorraine… my hand or your own conscience.”
The words sank into my heart, causing my chest to tighten.
He leaned back, spreading his arms across the chair like a king on his throne. “Drink.”
“I…I’m not
