They met at an all-night diner in Brooklyn, far from Manhattan and anyone who might recognize either of them.
Elena got there first, sliding into a corner booth with her back to the wall—a trick Sarah Chen had taught her, always watch the exits. She ordered coffee she didn’t drink and waited.
Dante walked in ten minutes later, and Elena’s breath caught.
Without the mask, in just jeans and a black sweater, he was somehow even more striking. Tall and broad-shouldered, moving with the kind of confidence that came from never doubting yourself. His storm-gray eyes found her immediately, and something in his expression softened.
He slid into the booth across from her. “You look exhausted.”
“That’s the second time someone’s told me that this week.” Elena tried to smile, but it felt brittle.
