When Angelo arrived at the mansion carrying Annabelle, unconscious and bruised, Dante was already waiting at the door.

His figure dark and unyielding against the glow of the dim porch lights. The sight of her slumped in Angelo’s arms, her body limp and her clothes stained with blood, was enough to send a wave of raw fury crashing through him.

His hands clenched at his sides as he fought against an urge to rip apart whatever force had dared to harm her. He’d expected many things when he’d sent Angelo to retrieve her, but not this.

His gaze flicked to Angelo, who gave a small nod. “She’s breathing,” he muttered....