Instead, his chest felt hollowed out.
"Dante," Olivia whispered. The name felt dangerous on her tongue, too intimate for this dark, forgotten space.
He didn't speak. He stepped forward. Marcus stepped in front of Olivia, raising the iron pipe.
"Don't touch her," the fourteen-year-old snarled, his voice cracking with a mixture of terror and fierce bravery. "Get out of here!"
Dante looked down at the boy. For a second, the cold, ruthless boss of the Calvetti family vanished. His eyes softened, a flash of ancient pain crossing his features before his mask slipped back into place. He didn't look at Marcus with anger; he looked at him with recognition.