Alina POV

The ride home was quiet. Dante’s hand was tight on the steering wheel. His jaw flexed with every turn, his eyes locked on the road like he was afraid to look at me. I leaned against the window, my head pounding from all the crying, though inside I wasn’t as broken as I looked. My chest still burned, but not from grief. From fury. From the thrill of watching Barry finally stumble under the weight of my words. He deserved it. Every second of it.

The car stopped in front of the house. Dante killed the engine but didn’t move. His hand stayed on the wheel, knuckles white....