He didn’t look angry.

He looked like a man who had just found a bug on his pristine floor.

He walked toward us, his steps silent.

James let go of my arm, backing away until he hit the stone railing.

“Russo,” James stammered, his voice cracking. “I was just talking to her. We were just—”

Dante didn’t let him finish.

In one swift motion, Dante grabbed James by the collar of his cheap suit.

He lifted James off his feet and slammed him against the stone pillar.

The sound of James’s head hitting the stone was a dull, sickening thud.

James groaned, his legs dangling above the floor.

Dante’s face was completely calm as he stared into James’s eyes.

“You are a very small man, James,” Dante said, his voice a low, dark purr.

“And you have made a very large mistake.”

“Please,” James choked out, his hands clawing at Dante’s wrists.

Dante squeezed his hand, cutting off James’s air.

“If you ever look at her again,” Dante said, “I will cut out your eyes.”

He spoke the words as if he were discussing the weather.