"Time's up."
The voice from outside didn't rise, didn't sharpen it didn't need to. It carried through the door with quiet authority, like the outcome had already been decided and they were just catching up to it.
Camille's chest tightened.
Seconds.
That was all she had left.
Seconds to decide whether she walked into something she didn't understand… or stayed and kept running from something that would never stop chasing her.
Her gaze locked onto Dante.
"You should have told me earlier," she said.
His jaw flexed. "I was trying to keep you out of it."
"I've been in it since the beginning."
"I know."
"Then stop deciding what I can handle."
The words hit, but he didn't argue this time.
Didn't deflect.
Didn't control.
He just looked at her.
And for once
He let her see everything he wasn't saying.
Tension. Conflict. Something dangerously close to fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
"That man out there," Dante said quietly, "doesn't make offers he can't enforce."
