Lorenzo stood at the window of his study, looking out at Rome.
His city. His territory. His domain.
And Dante Romano had walked into it, placed an operative in his household, seduced his daughter, and orchestrated her removal from his control.
The audacity of it was breathtaking.
The violation of it was consuming.
Lorenzo had built everything...his wealth, his power, his family's legacy, on the foundation of control. On understanding every variable. On anticipating every move.
And Dante had played him.
Isabella had chosen Dante.
His own daughter had betrayed him.
The rage that consumed Lorenzo was beyond anything he'd experienced in decades. It was primal. Consuming. The kind of fury that destroyed everything in its path.
