The clinic door closed behind her with a hollow thud, and the cold night air slapped her face. Fiorella stopped for a moment, inhaling deeply, as if trying to contain the whirlwind of emotions storming inside her. But it was useless. A low, guttural growl escaped her clenched lips.

"Hope that bitch dies," she muttered through her teeth, feeling the rage burn her from the inside out.

She hated her. With every fiber of her being.

Dante was supposed to be hers. Not that intruder’s. Not that cheap