The silence after the slam of Dante’s office door rang louder than the argument.

Mandy stood there for a beat, maybe two. Then she turned away and walked to the bathroom like a ghost, not even realizing she was trembling until her fingers fumbled the light switch three times before hitting it.

She shut the door behind her.

Blood.

It was on her arms. Under her nails. Smudged in streaks across her shirt like evidence, tt wasn’t Dante’s blood, it wasn’t hers.

It was his.

The man in ...