"Four."
Dante’s voice was a low, vibration of pure lethal intent, the heavy barrel of his semi-automatic pistol aligning directly with the dark opening beneath the desk frame.
Elena didn't wait for him to reach five. She knew that the moment he pulled that trigger, her life would end, and the decryption key hidden against her skin would burn along with her. Driven by a desperate flash of psychological instinct, she chose to weaponize her own terror.
With a sharp, deliberate gasp, Elena scrambled out from the dark kneehole of the mahogany desk, her wide emerald green silk skirts bunching around her knees as she intentionally collapsed onto the Persian rug at his feet. She let her hands fly up to cover her head, her shoulders shaking violently as a torrent of genuine, adrenaline-fueled te
