My hand hovers over my phone, but I don't run.
Running is what he expects, what he wants. Marcus Davidson sits across from me like we're discussing quarterly earnings, not my potential destruction, and that smug certainty in his eyes tells me he's already won.
So I sit.
"Smart girl." Davidson signals the waiter and orders a Barolo, as if this were a celebration. "You always were the smart one, Katherine. That's why Angelo wants you."
"Angelo Torrino is dead." I keep my voice steady, fold my hands on the white tablecloth to hide their trembling. "I was there when he-"
