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"They're all true."

The temperature in the room drops, and his smile slips.

"So," he says calmly. "What brings you to my bedroom, Dante Di Zaro? Business? Because I have to say, this is a hell of an entrance."

"I'm married."

His brows lift, and he blinks. "Congratulations?"

"To Sunny Meadows."

I wait for his reaction. For my wife’s name to register. I see the second it does.

It’s a brief moment when his survival instincts tell him he should run. There is a split second when he has to choose between fight or flight. But his ego won’t let him run, and his arrogance makes him mistakenly believe he can talk his way out of this.

He takes a sip of his drink, then laughs around a mouthful of ice.

"Well," he says, crunching the ice between his teeth. "Ain't that the shit."

He puts his glass down on the mantel beside him.

"Sunny," he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Little Sunny Meadows. She married into the mafia. Good for her.”

My jaw locks so hard my back teeth creak.

"You know why I'm here?"

"I can guess."

"Then guess."

"She told you her version," he says. "And now you're here to … what? Defend her honor? Avenge her?" He chuckles. "How romantic. Very old school. I respect it."

"Her version."

"Everyone has a version, Dante."

I step closer, and my voice drops to the tone I save for moments like these. When it is the last conversation a man will ever have.

"Let me tell you my version. The one where you abused your position and power."

He watches me without fear, and I’m starting to think this guy is either completely unaware of what I’m capable of and believes this is going to end in his favor, or he really is delusional and thinks he is untouchable.

"How you cornered her in the elevator. How you pushed her against the wall. How you raped her while she pleaded with you to stop."

His face doesn't move. He gives me nothing. Just sips his fucking drink.

If I didn’t have things to say to him first, he’d already be dead on the floor.

“How you kicked in her front door and took what wasn't yours to take. How you made sure she knew there was nowhere to go. Nobody to tell. Nothing she could do."

I lean in. Close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath.

"Did it make you hard, Jeremy? Seeing her that frightened?"

He gives me nothing. No fear. No panic. No remorse. Fucking nothing.

"Did you sit there with your pathetic cock in your hands, jerking off over her fear?"