The penthouse was silent, but it was the silence of a bomb shelter after the sirens had stopped.
Dante shoved Evelina through the front door. He didn’t push her hard enough to make her fall, but hard enough to make her stumble, her heels catching on the polished concrete.
He slammed the heavy door shut behind them. The lock engaged with a sound like a gunshot.
Evelina spun around, her chest heaving. The green silk dress felt heavy now, suffocating, like it was coated in lead.
“You’re hurting me,” she hissed, rubbing her arm where his fingers had dug in.
Dante threw his tuxedo jacket onto the grey sofa. He didn’t look at her. He walked straight to the wet bar, the movement sharp and violent. He poured a glass of amber liquid, no ice, and downed it in one swallow.
He slammed the glass
