The fading roar of the Rossi syndicate’s SUVs was quickly swallowed by the relentless, rhythmic drumming of the midnight downpour outside. Inside the cavernous warehouse, the silence that rushed back in was heavy, suffocating, and thick with the bitter tang of cheap exhaust and spilled blood.
Elena stood frozen, her hand still resting on Dante’s massive, burning shoulder. Her fingers trembled against the dark, intricate ink mapping his skin, the cold weight of the Alighieri signet ring sliding loosely against her knuckle. She kept her gaze locked on the ruined loading bay doors, half-expecting Viktor and his heavily armed crew to turn their trucks around, to laugh again, to pull the trigger they had so casually spared them.
Underneath her palm, the rigid, steel-like tension in Dante’s fr
