Jofferey’s face folded in on itself as he went down, but it was the look in my eyes that finally finished him. Pride is a brittle thing—especially when it’s dangling over a cliff—and he understood, in that instant, what the cost of refusal would be.
He swallowed, the pride crushed flat, and slowly—terribly slowly—lowered himself to his knees. The whole bar seemed to hold its breath.
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, voice rough as gravel. He forced the words toward Dante like they scraped his throat. “I won’t touch your sister again. I swear.”
Silence pressed in so tight I could hear the clink of a glass in the corner. Dante stood still, mouth half open, like he’d been waiting his whole life to see vultures turned meek. The mercenaries I’d left on the floor looked at him as if they’d been stripp
