The breakdown lasted thirty seconds before Dante rose to his feet, his movements precise and controlled, and walked out of the office.
The blood on his hand had started to dry and turned tacky against his skin. He didn't wipe it off. He left it there, a reminder of what had been taken, of what he'd failed to protect.
Marco was waiting in the hallway, his phone already pressed to his ear, his face grim. He looked up when Dante emerged, and whatever he saw in Dante's expression made him go still.
"Lock it down," Dante announced, not looking at the other man. His voice was quiet, flat, stripped of all emotion. "No one leaves. No one enters. Every exit gets two guards minimum. Anyone tries to leave, they're detained."
Marco nodded once, sharp and efficient, and spoke rapidly into the phone.
