Dante’s pov

The rain pounded relentlessly on the window, soaking the apartment with a rhythmic sound. Dante sat at the kitchen table, gripping a half-full coffee cup that had gone cold some time ago. He was unable to get any rest. Not precisely. In contrast to Lia, who permitted herself to unwind as though she anticipated everything to go smoothly. He experienced jealousy regarding that. Or perhaps he just envied her self-assurance in that. A gentle murmur from behind urged him to look ...