The sign on the glass door read: *Hale & Associates.*

The door was unlocked, a sliver of light spilling out from the reception desk.

Dante pushed the door open quietly, his hand resting on the gun under his coat.

I followed close behind him, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The office was quiet, but the smell of burning paper was faint in the air.

We walked down the carpeted hallway toward the corner office.

Through the frosted glass, we could see a shadow moving back and forth.

Dante didn’t knock.

He pushed the door open with a firm shove.

Vanessa Hale was standing by a tall black shredder, her back to us.

She gasped, spinning around, a handful of documents clutched to her chest.

Her immaculate blonde hair was slightly disheveled, and her eyes were wide with panic.

“Dante,” she breathed, her voice shaking.

“What are you doing here?”

Then she saw me standing beside him.

Her eyes narrowed, the panic momentarily replaced by a look of pure venom.

“Alessia,” she said.

“You should have stayed in hiding.”

“The game is over, Vanessa,” I said.