Marco
The glow from the monitor was the only light in the room. Everyone else had been dismissed,except me and the weight of betrayal that twisted like wire in my chest.
The surveillance footage played on a loop.
There she was.
Standing too close to Dante beneath the rusted archway behind La Viña. A location I knew wasn't on any social calendar or business ledger.
She wasn't screaming at him. She wasn't slapping him for pulling her out of the house despite my warnings.
She was listening. Nodding even.
Her hair was tied in a tight braid, tucked into a hood. Her hands were balled in her coat pockets like she was cold or hiding something, or both. And Dante, the bastard, was leaning toward her like he was passing a secret, his voice low and coaxing, like he'd done a thousand times before when he wanted something forbidden.
I paused the footage.
The still image hurt more than the motion.
The betrayal had a shape now.
