The door clicked shut behind Stephen with a sound that felt far too final.
"Finally, you're back," Dante drawled the moment Stephen crossed the threshold into Adrian's private office.
Stephen froze just inside the doorway, one hand still resting on the brass handle. His brows drew together in a faint, puzzled crease as his gaze settled on the man lounging against the far wall like he owned the place.
"Why are you here?" Stephen asked, voice low and measured. "This is the company."
Dante Blake didn't belong in polished glass towers and marble-floored executive suites. He thrived in shadowed warehouses, back-alley meetings, and the low, concrete rooms where Adrian's less civilized business was conducted. Seeing him here—casual, almost insolent, in the very heart of the legitimate empire—was like watching a wolf stroll into a boardroom.
