Chapter 7

Chapter 7

DENISE

Dante arrived at eight in the morning.

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Not a text. Not a call. He simply appeared at my door in a charcoal jacket with his keys in his hand, looking like a man who had made a decision and wasn’t interested in discussing it.

I stared at him for a moment from the doorway. I was already dressed-the dark green wrap had been replaced last night with something more appropriate for an errand I was being volunteered for, a cream blouse tucked into high-waisted trousers, my hair pulled back neatly. I hadn’t been planning to bail. I’d made my decision last night, and I kept my decisions.

But the fact that he’d come personally, that he’d driven across the city on a Thursday morning to collect me like a parcel he didn’t trust the courier with-that told me everything about how much he trusted my compliance, even now.