Dante’s pov

Luca was unharmed. That ought to have sufficed. However, it wasn’t. Dante was seated in the softly illuminated study, a glass of whiskey idle in his grasp. The ice had dissolved, diluting it, yet he was unconcerned. The house's silence enveloped him, more oppressive than it had ever felt. In the adjacent room, Lia was with Luca, tending to him, examining him for the umpteenth time despite the doctor having already confirmed he was okay. At least on a physical level. Dante ...