Dante looked sad. He held his head in his one good hand. The polished marble floor of the boutique suddenly felt like a cold, mocking surface beneath his feet.
"No way," he murmured, his voice low and defeated. "That can't be."
'He'd missed it. The perfect chance. A golden opportunity, handed to him on a silver platter, and he'd been too blind to see it.'
'He could've plundered this entire, magnificent mall. He could've stripped it bare of its treasures and walked away with an arsenal of artifacts that would've made kings weep. And it would've cost him nothing.'
Elena, who'd been enjoying her small victory over the flustered shopkeeper, saw the look on his face. The triumph in her eyes faded, replaced by genuine, guilty concern.
"Umm, sorry," she said, her voice small and apologetic. "It wasn't like I was deceiving you. But you never asked."
