The black luxury vehicle cut through the glittering night streets of New York like a shark in the ocean—sleek, silent, and inescapable. Anastasia sat rigidly in the backseat, her fingers clenched into fists against her lap, her jaw tight. The car was locked. Not in the metaphorical sense—but literally. No door handle would budge, no window would roll down.
Dante had planned everything.
The man in the driver's seat, dressed in a fitted black suit, kept his eyes on the road. Silent. Unreadable. Just like Dante.
Her gaze darted outside, trying to memorize every route, every turn. She knew this city like the back of her hand, yet somehow, tonight, it all felt unfamiliar—like she was no longer a part of this world. Like the city itself was turning its back on her.
Then she saw it.
The gates of the Montgomery Estate.
