LUCA'S POV
I reach for a cigarette and take a long drag, the familiar burn in my chest offering little comfort as I stand by the window, staring out at the darkening horizon. Dante's visit is still fresh in my mind, the rage simmering in his eyes when he stormed into my house, looking like he was seconds away from tearing the place apart. The bastard had every right to be angry, but it doesn't mean I regret a single thing I did.
My lips twist into a bitter smile as I exhale the smoke slowly, watching it curl in the air. It had been satisfying—too satisfying—seeing the frustration written all over his face when he realized I'd stepped in to protect Anastasia. His pride couldn't handle the idea that someone else had to do the job he was supposed to.
Yet, it's not just about her safety, is it?
