POV: Sasha
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Two days passed in the estate like syrup – slow, thick, heavy.
Dmitri was in a holding cell somewhere in New Jersey. Antonio's men rotated guards, kept him isolated, fed him, didn't talk to him. A ghost imprisonment. I'd asked to see him. Antonio said no.
"Not yet," he'd told me. His voice was calm, but his eyes were hard. "He's still dangerous. So are you."
I didn't argue. Arguing with Antonio Matteo was like arguing with a stone wall – possible, but pointless.
Instead, I walked.
The estate had acres of grounds – gardens that Antonio's mother had planted decades ago, stone paths that wound through old trees, a small pond with koi fish that didn't seem to know there was a war happening outside their little world. I walked those paths every morning, every afternoon, ev
