Chapter 115

Dante The book in front of me was open, but I wasn’t reading. Not really. I ran my fingers along the edges of the worn pages, my eyes scanning the lines without processing a single word. The Prince by Machiavelli. A choice I made in an attempt to distract myself, to focus on strategy and control but my mind refused to cooperate. It had been a Herculean effort, trying to act like the threatening note Isabel had found hadn't gotten to me. I'd let myself be distracted by a response that came naturally - the urge to protect - but deep down, I'd been so close to driving my hand into a brick wall.