Mila saw him coming before he'd made it halfway across the room, let alone managed to call out to her.
And of course he knew it too. She could see the shit-eating grin on his face from here.
She had known Markus Hale since he was nine years old—since he'd been a scrawny kid with too-big eyes and a chip on his shoulder the size of a major city. She'd wiped his tears when one of the other foster kids had stolen his candy, and bandaged his cuts when he got into fights for not wearing the right clothes.
Well... that wasn't a problem for him anymore.
She let out a quiet sigh and sank even more into Dante's embrace. She knew exactly what that brat was about to do.
He was going to make a grand entrance.
And he did.
