The news of Gregory's death settled over Dante like a weight lifting.

For fifteen years, he'd carried rage. Hatred. The burning need for justice. For revenge.

And now the object of that rage was gone. Dead in a hotel room. Alone. Exactly as he'd deserved.

But instead of satisfaction, Dante felt empty. Hollow. Like the anger had been holding him together and now that it was gone, he didn't know who he was supposed to be.

"Talk to me," Sienna said. They were on the porch. Morning coffee. Kids still sleeping after the trauma of the night before.

"I thought I'd feel different. Relieved. Vindicated. Something. But I just feel......