Lia’s POV

The air felt thick. Suffocating. I stood at the kitchen counter, gripping the edge so tightly my knuckles turned white. The clock on the wall ticked too loud, each second dragging me closer to the inevitable. Dante was close. I could feel him. My stomach twisted, my pulse erratic. Three years of running. Three years of looking over my shoulder. Three years of pretending I was free. But I wasn’t. Not really. Because Dante never let go. And now, he was here. I turned, my eyes ...