The east wing of the Moretti estate was a cathedral of shadows when they reached it, silent, cold, humming with electricity and dread. Red emergency lights cast long streaks across the marble floors, like veins glowing beneath the skin of a creature awakening.
Aria had seen Dante angry.
She had seen him cold.
But she had never seen him like this, carved from stone and fire, every muscle pulled taut, every breath measured not for calm but for war. He wasn't the CEO now. He wasn't the calculating mafia prince she had glimpsed in pieces.
He was the devil carved into flesh.
And he was marching into his kingdom's wound.
Guards parted instantly when they saw him, tense and armed, their eyes snapping to Aria with barely disguised fear. Not fear of her. Fear for her. Fear of what Dante would do if even a strand of her hair was at risk.
A security lieutenant approached, a broad-shouldered man with a scar tracing his jaw.
