Dante
Sleep never came. Her words kept replaying in my head, slicing me open each time.
Too many to count.
I’d heard plenty of lies, confessions, and betrayals in my life. But that? That line wasn’t just a dagger—it was poison. My mind wouldn’t stop circling it, wouldn’t stop running through names and faces.
Did she mean Rafé? Did she mean him when she spat that at me?
I sat in the dark, staring at the city stretched below like a living thing, neon pulsing through its veins. Even from up here, I could hear its heartbeat. My empire. My domain. But none of it felt like control, not when the woman I was supposed to own was spinning me out.
The office door clicked, and Matteo strolled in, tie loose, shirt half-rolled. He had the nerve to pour himself a drink before saying a word.
