The man stepped into the room with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone who already believed the outcome was set.
Aria felt her pulse slam against her ribs.
Her hand tightened around the shock baton she'd hidden behind her leg, concealed by the oversized hem of Dante's hoodie.
"Don't scream," the man said.
His voice was wrong.
Too calm.
Too steady.
Too familiar with violence.
Aria's breath shivered, but she didn't back away. She had lived in Dante's world long enough to understand the rules: fear made you smaller, easier to break.
She straightened.
"What do you want?"
He tilted his head, the hood shadowing most of his face. "You. But not in the way Moretti does."
Her stomach knotted.
"Who sent you?" she demanded.
The man laughed softly. "People who want leverage. People who know Dante will burn down continents if he thinks you've been touched."
Aria's fingers gripped the baton tighter.
"Move," the intruder ordered, pointing to the chair near the bed. "Sit."
