I don’t knock this time.
I shove his office door open with more force than necessary, the bang against the stop echoing off wood and glass.
Dante looks up from a stack of documents, irritation flickering across his face, then flattening when he sees me.
And the envelope in my hand.
We just stare at each other for a heartbeat.
Then I walk in and drop it on his desk between us.
The pages inside shift with a soft, accusing rustle.
He doesn’t look down at it.
He looks at me.
“Where did you get that?” he asks, voice too calm.
“From the man who used to smuggle me half a sandwich when your industry tried to starve me,” I say. “Turns out some lawyers prefer PDFs to arson.”
His jaw clenches.
“Rafael,” he says.
“Gold star,” I bite out.
He sits back slowly, eyes never leaving mine. Ther
