The afternoon had passed like a silent battle, and ever since Svetlana had run from him, Dante had tried to distract himself by throwing all his focus into work—into the construction of the theater, into reviewing every detail, into making sure everything was in order.

But his mind refused to stay still.

No matter how hard he tried to concentrate, she was everywhere.

In the brush of cold wind against his skin, reminding him of the softness of her body.

In the sound of tools echoing through the