Part of Dante was in just enough of a bad mood to consider harassing Dee. He liked to make people crazy, because he was an adolescent jerk that way. But he was watching her with narrowed eyes, and the more he watched her, the more he realized soemthing. She wasn't just punching that bag like she'd come fresh from a shitty female's kickboxing class. She was punching it like she knew how to punch.
She'd had professional training.
Now he was less annoyed by her presence, and a lot more curious. Curious and wary. Professional women meant danger. His eyes narrowed further, this time in careful observation and not in distaste. After making notes of her movements, Dante got to his feet and walked over to her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Legal or illegal training?" he asked simply.