Dante’s POV

Lia is in my arms, her body pressed to mine, yet I can feel the distress in her. She is not serene by any means. Her hands clutch wildly at the stained material of my shirt as if she is hanging on to something that she knows is getting away. I lay my chin on the top of her head, breathing in her faint smell of shampoo, something gentle and comforting on an otherwise tumultuous evening. "We should go to bed," I suggest, knowing full well that neither of us is. Lia leans against ...