Valentina opened her mouth to speak, but the sound that came from downstairs swallowed whatever she was going to say entirely.
A single gunshot sharp, enormous, and completely unmistakable, the kind of sound that required no interpretation exploded through the lower floors of the penthouse. The lights died simultaneously, every source of illumination cutting out at once, plunging the room into the flat, grey light of the morning window.
In the sudden darkness, Valentina froze.
Dante did not. He moved with the fast, immediate, and complete absence of hesitation belonging to a man for whom this was not an unexpected category of event. His hand found her arm in the dark, pulling her away from the window with a force that suggested he was already mapping the course of incoming fire. His bod
