"Dante!" Ferro's voice rang out, furious, cutting through the air.
"There are plenty of other women—why her?" Rage burned in his eyes.
He couldn't understand how Harold's granddaughter had managed to ensnare his only son like this.
"You can do whatever you please. But you will not put Hale blood into my line." His voice rose as he openly challenged the decision.
When he had reached the fire pit—just as Dante had been about to introduce Lyra—Ferro had frozen. His eyes had widened.
She had looked exactly like Harold. The resemblance had been unmistakable, despite the difference in her eye and hair color.
He had asked Lyra for her grandfather's name. The moment she said the name, his suspicion solidified.
"Did you hear me, Dante?" Ferro demanded.
Dante didn't bother reacting to his father's rage.
His expression remained unreadable as he took a long drag from his cigarette and released the smoke slowly.
"She is Ashford… not Hale," he said nonchalantly.
