AMARAThe blood was everywhere. Mostly smeared over every part of my hand. Dante DeLaurentis’ blood. And yet for some stupid reason, my mind found its way to a memory I’d buried as deep as I could.Five years ago, when I had shared one heated moment with Dante in the abandoned closet of Iridium High’s bleachers. It was a stupid, dangerous memory to bring up. Especially now. Yet, the longer I look at the dark red that coated my fingers, the harder the past and present seemed to collide in a sickeningly, dark rush. I had every right to hate him. He’d spent his entire life trying to ruin my grades, trying to outrun me in everything academic, and most importantly, trying to destroy my family in the mafioso war.I should hate him.But I couldn’t. Not when he had jumped without hesitation. As soon as another shot exploded after his last words, he had brought me down to the floor and even protected from the bullets that rained on us.“Dante.” I called out as he trudged into the study.No re
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