Dante watched the door click shut behind Annabelle, the faint thud echoing in the quiet hallway.

For a moment, he stood rooted in place, staring at the wooden frame, his mind churning. He turned sharply, his movements decisive, and strode toward the main living area of the safe house. His men were already waiting, their postures alert but slightly tense as they tracked his approach.

Without preamble, Dante launched into a meeting. “Here’s how we’re going to handle this,” he said, his voice clipped and steady, brooking no argument. “The chance of them finding this place is slim, but we’re not taking risks. Every entrance is to be guarded around...