The silence in the house was unbearable. 

Annabelle sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers drumming anxiously on the mattress. 

The clock on the wall ticked relentlessly.

Marking the hours since Dante and Angelo had left. 

She had seen Mikhail’s men earlier, stationed around the estate like statues, but Mikhail himself had been nowhere to be found.

She had questions. 

Too many questions.

Annabelle regretted not having Mikhail’s number. 

Surely he could have answered her. 

Angelo had put Dante’s number on speed-dial on her phone when she first got it, telling her she could call him right away if there was a need to.

But in a fit...