Dante’s POV

Lucia hesitated in the doorway. I saw the way her fingers curled slightly, the way her shoulders stiffened, like a thief caught in the act.

She met my gaze, her expression carefully neutral. “Fine.”

“Fine,” I echoed, rolling the word over my tongue like a sip of aged whiskey. It tasted like a lie. “Is that all?”

She remained standing, hands at her sides, her nails digging slightly into her palms. Defiant, but nervous. A contradiction that only made her more ...