"He sent a gift to my wife?" Leo's voice dropped lower, each word precise and dangerous, carrying a tone that made the man's survival instincts scream. "And you waited almost a month to tell me?"
"Sir, I—we were trying to handle it ourselves. We didn't want to—"
"Where is the gift now?"
"We disposed of it. For safety. We didn't know if it was—"
"Good." Leo cut him off. "That was the right call."
He turned back to the window, facing the city again. But this time, the man could see it and he almost shivered.
Leo's hands. Clenched at his sides. Tight. White-knuckled. The towel hung forgotten, twisted in one fist.
His shoulders were rigid, corded with tension. The veins in his forearms stood out against his skin. He stood perfectly still, but everything about him screamed barely contained fury.
The man couldn't see Leo's face from here, but he imagined those gray eyes, stormy now. Dark. Dangerous.
