“Morana,” Dante paused for a beat. “For years my father has tried to break Tristan, to get even some semblance of control over him. Torture, blackmail, you name it, he’s done it. But it’s never worked. No matter what he subjected Tristan to, it always hit a wall.” Her heart ached even as the rage filled her, against a man she’d not even met. “My father,” Dante continued, “is going to hate you. And use you.”
