The meeting room reeked of smoke and guns, a place where deals were sealed with blood, not signatures. Long tables held Dante's team and partners, their hard faces serious and their eyes narrowed with distrust. The murmur of voices stopped when Dante came in, his arrival dragging quiet like a heavy chain.
And this time, he wasn't by himself.
Isla walked behind him, her steps slow, her face unreadable. She felt the weight of every stare on her skin. These were men who were once soldiers, leaders, and killers. Men who had proven their loyalty to Dante through years of violence. And now she was here, standing with him, as if she belonged with them.
Her heart pounded beneath her calm outside, but she wouldn't let them see it. If she showed them how scared she felt, they would destroy her.
One tough, scarred old man at the far end of the table raised an eyebrow at her. His lip curled in open disgust. "With all due respect, Boss, why is she here?"
