Dante stood still, his gaze locked on Annabelle’s tear-streaked face as the sobs wracked her body.

Her emerald eyes shimmered with pain she was clearly trying to conceal, yet the tremor in her lips betrayed her.

Despite the grief wracking her body, she still held her body rigidly like she was getting prepared to bolt from him any minute.

Dante had no intention of letting her go.

“I…can’t…do…this,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

“Of course, you can,” he said firmly, his grip on her arm tightening just enough to keep her from slipping away.

Her head lowered and her shoulders shook violently.

He could...