The silence that followed Elena's words was so absolute that the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocks below sounded like artillery fire. Dante’s obsidian eyes narrowed, shifting from Elena’s spilled wine to the pale, sweating waiter standing two paces behind her chair. The waiter’s nerve broke. With a strangled shriek of terror, the young man reached into his jacket, clawing for a concealed snub-nosed revolver. Before his fingers…
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