“Did you sleep?” he asked, gesturing for me to sit.

“A little,” I lied, sitting across from him.

A silver platter of eggs, bacon, and pastries sat in the center of the table.

The greasy smell of the bacon made me close my eyes for a brief second to control the nausea.

“You are not eating,” Dante observed, his coffee cup pausing halfway to his lips.

“I’m still a bit nauseous from the stress,” I said, reaching for a piece of dry toast.

“I can have the chef prepare something else,” he offered.

“No, this is fine. Really.”

He set his cup down and closed the folder.

“We have traced Marcus’s phone to the harbor district,” Dante said. “But he is moving quickly.”

“He always was good at running,” I said, chewing the dry toast slowly.

“He cannot run forever,” Dante said, his voice cold and hard. “He owes money to the Valentis, and he owes me.”

“What will you do when you find him?” I asked.

Dante looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“I will ensure he never threatens you again,” he said.