Eighteen
Dante’s arms were still around her.
But it wasn’t warmth she felt.
It was a cage.
Strong. Familiar. Infuriating.
Elena drew in a breath and stepped back not because she didn’t want to be near him, but because she had to look him in the eye when she said it.
When she let it bleed.
“I know what ...
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38. Thirty eight
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41. Forty One
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44. Forty four
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48. Forty Eight
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