Anastasia sat in the passenger seat of Dante's sleek black car just minutes before, her jaw tight, her thoughts spinning. The sight of Rogers being dragged away in cuffs was still fresh in her mind, yet the sudden detour made her frown.
"Why did we come here?" she muttered, her voice sharp with that quiet storm only Dante knew how to provoke. "I want to see him behind bars, Dante. I want to see it with my own eyes."
Dante chuckled, the sound low and rich, like velvet brushing over steel. He shifted the wheel with one hand, the other capturing her smaller one with an iron possessiveness that told her her protest was futile.
