Clarissa’s POV
“George Monroe is dead,” I said, each word measured, restrained, because if I let them slip freely, I would scream. “You were at the funeral, Dante. You stood right beside me.”
His mouth parted slightly, as if he wanted to correct me. Or confess something, Or lie. He chose silence.
“Why would you ask me that?” I demanded.
Dante looked away, his jaw tightening. “I just thought… maybe you’d want closure.”
“Closure?” I laughed, a brittle sound that didn’t belong to me. “You don’t get closure when your brother dies in a twisted heap on a rainy highway.”
His shoulders stiffened.
I took a step closer, lowering my voice. “Do you know something about George’s death?”
That did it. His hands clenched at his sides. The pause that followed felt deliberate, weighted and very dang
