The ride back to the residence was silent, but it wasn’t peaceful. It was the silence of a predator carrying prey back to the den.
Dante didn’t look at her. He sat with his legs sprawled, scrolling through his phone, radiating a cold, dismissive energy. Evelina sat pressed against the door, the severe navy sheath dress she had worn to destroy Aubert feeling like a target painted on her back.
When they arrived at the fortress-like house in Geneva, Dante didn’t lead her to the dining room.
“Upstairs,” he commanded.
Evelina froze on the gravel driveway. “I thought we were having dinner.”
“I’m not hungry,” Dante said, walking past her. “And you look like you need to be cleaned.”
He didn’t wait. He walked into the house, taking the stairs two at a time. Evelina had to run to catch up, her
