“Mm,” Santos hummed. That sound alone was enough to put him on edge. Santos studied people the way snakes studied prey, waiting for them to show weakness.
“You’ve been distracted lately,” Santos said.
Dante forced himself to shrug. “Long hours.”
“You know what happens to people who disappoint me?” Santos asked. His stomach twisted because he knew exactly what happened to people who disappointed his boss. Hell, he had helped bury some of them.
“I won’t disappoint you,” Dante lied.
“You already are,” Santos breathed, sitting back in his chair. Silence filled the room, but Dante kept his expression neutral even as adrenaline surged through his veins. Santos opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a photograph, and then he slid it across the desk, and Dante stopped breathing. It was a photoof Sofia. His little sister smiled brightly in the picture, dark curls falling around her face. The photo had been taken recently, as though it was proof of life—cruel fucking proof.
“You miss her?” Santos asked softly.
Dante swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Good.” Santos leaned back again. “Fear keeps people obedient.” Hatred exploded inside Dante so hard it nearly blinded him. One day—one fucking day, he’d kill this man slowly. But not today. Today, he still needed Sofia alive.
“Get Lark and bring her downstairs tomorrow night,” Santos ordered. “We’re having dinner with some important people.”
Dante’s stomach sank. “What kind of people?”
Santos smiled. “The kind who might finally make my daughter useful. Now, earn your keep and guard my daughter’s room. I can’t have anything happen to her now. Dante nodded and left the office. He stood outside Lark’s bedroom door with his hand clenched around the key. He couldn’t stop hearing Santos’s words. He had called her useful, like she was an object. Like she wasn’t a living, breathing woman who looked at the world like she was drowning in it. Dante rested his forehead briefly against the door. This was getting bad—worse than bad. And the terrifying part was that he was starting to realize he’d burn this entire empire to the ground before he let Santos hand Lark over to anyone.
Dante didn’t sleep. He sat in the security room at four in the morning staring at camera feeds while rage slowly hollowed him out from the inside. Lark’s bedroom camera was blacked out, not because she’d done it, but because he had—three nights ago. A small glitch in the system nobody had noticed except him.He’d told himself it was because Santos watched her too often, and that it made him sick seeing the old man monitor his own daughter like property. But deep down, Dante knew the truth—he’d done it because he wanted one place in this godforsaken house where Lark could breathe without someone watching her.
The security door opened behind him, and Dante immediately straightened. Marco walked in carrying coffee and looking half-awake. “You been here all night?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Dante said.
Marco frowned at the monitors. “Boss is jumpy lately.” No shit. Dante took the coffee without thanking him.
“Any idea who that guy was yesterday?” Marco asked quietly.
Dante shook his head. “No.”
“He wasn’t cartel,” Marco said.
“No, he wasn’t,” Dante agreed.
Marco lowered his voice further. “Think he’s government?” That made Dante go still.
“Why would you think that?” he asked.
“That guy had military written all over him.” Marco shrugged. “Didn’t move like one of us, either,” Dante grunted noncommittally and looked back at the screens before Marco noticed the sudden tension in his face. The guy couldn’t be from the government because Dante wasn’t that lucky. If the feds were finally circling Santos, Dante wouldn’t have to destroy himself by taking the bastard down alone. Maybe then, Sofia would still have a chance.
Marco yawned. “Anyway, the boss wants everyone armed tonight. He’s having a big dinner.”
Dante’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. I heard.”
“Something about the daughter being involved too,” Marco said. Every muscle in Dante’s body tightened violently, and Marco seemed to notice. “Jesus,” he muttered. “You got it bad.”
Dante slowly looked at him. “What?”
Marco snorted. “Come on, everybody sees it.”
Cold panic slid down Dante’s spine. “No, they don’t, because there is nothing to see.”
“They do,” Marco said casually. “You hover around her like a damn guard dog.” Dante was a guard dog, just not for Santos, but for her.
