With every step I took, my pulse raced faster.

The house was too quiet, the staff having retired for the evening hours ago.

I knew the security guards patrolled the perimeter outside, but Dante kept his private wing secluded.

He valued his privacy above all else, which made this area of the house a dangerous place to be caught.

I reached the heavy, arched mahogany doors of his study.

My hand hovered over the polished brass handle.

It was cold, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from my own skin.

I turned the handle slowly, half-expecting it to be locked.

The latch released with a quiet metallic scrape.

I slipped inside the dark room, pulling the door shut until it clicked into place.

The study smelled of old paper, leather, and Dante’s distinct cedarwood cologne.

Outside, a sudden flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting stark shadows across the bookshelves that lined the walls.

A massive desk made of dark cherry wood stood in the center of the room.

I walked over to it, my legs feeling like lead.

I pulled open the top drawer.