Dante stared at Anastasia, his eyes narrowing, gleaming with a chilling blend of amusement and cold calculation. His lips curled into a smug, slow smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You have the blueprint," he repeated, his voice low, edged with something dangerous.
Anastasia nodded, her expression guarded. She refused to look away.
Dante leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass before taking a sip, savoring it like a predator savoring the moment before striking. Then he chuckled, the sound rich with sarcasm. "I figured as much. Your father may have been sentimental, but he wasn't foolish. Of course, he'd give it to his little heiress."
She clenched her fist "I'm not giving it to you, Dante."
His smirk widened. "Oh, darling, I never said you had to give it to me. But let's get one thing straight—you want your company back, don't you? Then maybe you should think about how useful that little piece of paper is without the power to reclaim what's yours."
