Morana wanted to tell her to give her a call sometime. She wanted to tell her she didn't have any friends either. She wanted to tell her she would love to be friends with her own brave self.
But she couldn't.
She had the words, on the tip of her tongue, ready to tumble out. She had that need, so, so deep inside her, to know someone, to have a friend, to share her life and stories with a person. But actions like that could have consequences, not only for her but for Amara too. She had been banished by her own city and sent here. Morana couldn't get her thrown out, or killed.
She bit her lip and pulled back her hand, clearing her throat, looking out from the glass wall inside her, reaching but unable to touch.
The sound of the elevator opening saved her from any awkward silence.
Morana turned again to see the newcomers, her eyes falling on Dante and Tristan Caine walking in, both tall, broad, incredibly handsome men. She saw Dante falter for a second as his eyes fell on Amara, but he continued approaching them, dressed in another sharp suit. The man beside him, on the other hand, strode in gracefully, drawing Morana's eyes. Again.
She could feel her stomach knot as her eyes locked with his, those sharp blue eyes looking magnificent in the sunlight, his tight, muscled body in a simple t-shirt and cargo pants, telling her wherever they had been, it had been informal enough for him to go casually.
"I see you've made yourself comfortable in my kitchen, Amara," he spoke, in that whiskeyed voice of his, to the woman behind her even as his eyes stayed on hers.
"Just in your kitchen," Amara responded, her voice soft but perky.
Dante walked to the glass walls, his hands in his pockets, and looked out at the view, completely ignoring everyone in the room. Morana observed the other man, sensing the tension between him and Amara. She'd sensed it before as well.
Curious, she looked back at Tristan Caine, only to find him rifling through his cabinets, his eyes coming to hers just as hers went to him.
He looked at her.
Her heart stuttered.
He looked away.
Her heart started.
Closing her eyes at her own stupid reactions, Morana cleared her throat, turning towards Dante, where he stood against the wall.
"Did you find anything at the warehouses?"
Dante didn't turn but spoke loudly. "Not at the one here. But there were certain... oddities at the ones in Tenebrae."
"Oddities?" Morana leaned forward, interested.
"That warehouse had been owned by one of our local competitors a long time ago," Dante informed her, his profile in the sun sharp. "Except for the equipment my men found belonged to another gang. We can't figure out who'd used it yet."
Morana narrowed her eyes, the wheels in her mind churning. "What would it mean for Mr. Caine if the codes were to be used and he was to be framed?"
Dante turned around, his eyes hard on hers. "It would mean his death, Morana."
So she could rule out Tristan Caine playing a mastermind game and framing himself. Unless the man was on a suicide mission.
"You'll know of any developments the moment they occur," Dante promised her, and Morana nodded, refusing to turn towards the other man.
Amara cleared her throat. "I'd actually just come to give these to you, Morana."
Morana looked at the counter, to find her car keys resting there. Her car, her baby, was fixed. Her eyes flew up to lock with Tristan Caine's. He wasn't looking at her.
Morana nodded, her heart accelerating, and jumped down from the high stool, hitching her handbag over her shoulder and grabbing her keys.
"I should leave now," she muttered, looking around once.
Dante gave her a polite nod, to which she nodded back, knowing they'd be in touch.
Amara smiled at her. "I hope we meet again, Morana."