The safehouse was quiet, almost unnaturally so. After the chaos of the attack, the silence pressed in on me, thick and suffocating, leaving only the sound of my ragged breathing and the faint hum of the city outside. I leaned against the wall, knees drawn up, trying to steady my pulse, my body still trembling from adrenaline.

Dante moved through the room like a predator surveying his territory, but every step he took seemed to erase the space between us. Even in this quiet, he radiated dominance, control, and an edge of danger that made my stomach twist in ways I hated to admit.

“You’re shaking,” he said, low and...