“You had people following my sister without telling me.”
“Following the people following her.”
I gave him a look.
“That distinction sounded better the first time you used it.”
For the briefest second, something almost human passed through his expression.
Not amusement exactly.
Relief that I was still angry enough to argue.
Then his phone vibrated.
He looked down.
The relief disappeared.
“What?”
“The sedan moved.”
My heart kicked.
“Toward her school?”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Toward this building.”
Every instinct in me screamed to call my sister again.
Instead, I forced myself to think.
That was what three years beside Dante had taught me, whether he realized it or not.
Panic was information wasted.
“Why come here now?”
Dante’s eyes shifted toward my resignation letter.
I followed his gaze.
“He knows I’m quitting?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nobody knew except me.
I printed that letter at home.”
“Then maybe he’s not coming because you’re quitting.”
I stared at him.
“Maybe he’s coming because he thinks today’s the day he can use me.”
Dante’s phone vibrated again.
This time he answered.
He listened without speaking.
Then he said, “Do not let him past the lobby.
Keep him there.”
He ended the call.
“He’s downstairs.”
My skin went cold.
“The man from the photographs?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he walk into your building?”
Dante’s gaze sharpened.
“Because people who believe they have leverage become careless.”
There was the Dante Moretti everyone feared.
Not loud.
Not theatrical.
Certain.
He reached for the surveillance file.
I put my hand on it first.
“No.”
His eyes flicked to mine.
“Cara.”
“He followed my sister because he thinks I’m the weak point.
So let him think he’s right.”
“Absolutely not.”
