Dante remained untouched by the chaos around him. Music roared, bass vibrating through the walls as bodies crowded the dance floor, driven by alcohol and the promise of the night.
His gaze remained fixed on the Glencairn glass in his hand until the phone on the table lit up, Griffin's name glowing against the darkness.
The call connected automatically to the Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear.
"Speak," Dante said. One word was all he needed.
"Sir… help." Griffin's voice was strained, cut short by a harsh cough. "Someone attacked me after I got the information about—"
Another violent cough followed, then a long, exhausted breath.
"Where are you?" Dante asked, already pushing his chair back.
"…H—home," he managed, the word breaking as it left him.
He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on as he moved, already dialing another number. By the time he stepped out, the car was already waiting at the entrance.
Stott sat in the driver's seat and glanced back.
