Dante slowly pushed himself to his feet. His face was unreadable, a blank mask that gave nothing away. He staggered slightly as he walked toward me, then casually draped his arm over my shoulders, leaning into me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He didn't say a word, didn't acknowledge me beyond using me as support.
The weight of him pressed directly against my injured shoulder. Pain flared instantly, sharp and biting, but I kept my expression steady.
I turned, ready to leave, when a voice suddenly cut through the heavy silence.
"Mr. Falcone."
Liliana stood just inside the doorway, her figure framed by the light behind her. "If you were going to have your wife pick you up, why did you message me?"
I looked at her then. Her face was scrunched, her brows drawn together as if she were deeply hurt. Her voice trembled just enough to make it convincing. "You didn't have to go this far just to humiliate me."
She smoothed the edge of her lower lip with her thumbnail, the motion barely visible, as though she were settling into the shape of whatever wound she'd chosen to perform.