Dante
Nico told me I had a visitor, and I had told him to let the person in. She entered like sin on stilettos.
The air shifted the second Sophie stepped through the door of my private suite. Her silhouette carved out against the dull gold lighting, all sharp hips and sharper eyes, with that damn knowing smirk on her lips. I'd told myself I was over her, that whatever spell she cast back when we were younger had broken the moment I realized she'd played me like a violin in front of Rafael.
But now she was here. And the room suddenly felt too small.
"I didn't come to relive memories," she said, tossing her bag on the velvet armchair like she owned the place. "Unless that's what you need."
My fingers curled into fists by my side. "What the hell are you doing here, Sophie?"
Her smile twisted. "You look like shit, Dante. I figured maybe it's time I put you out of your misery."
