Dante’s POV

The room felt colder, darker. I gripped the phone tighter, every muscle in my body locking into place as the voice slithered through the speaker. “Miss me, bello?” Elena. My pulse roared in my ears. I could still see her bleeding out on the pavement, her breath ragged, her eyes glassy. She should be dead. She was supposed to be dead. Lia stirred in bed behind me, shifting under the covers, unaware that everything we had fought for—everything we had nearly died for—was ...