The mansion was quiet. Too quiet.

Noa’s heart hammered in his chest like a war drum as he paced the dim hallway. Bare feet made almost no sound on the cold marble floor, but every creak of the old house hit him like a gunshot. His pulse lived in his throat now, rapid and sick with dread.

You’ll stay. Or you’ll end up like them.

Alessio’s voice echoed in his skull. The blood on Alessio’s hands wasn’t a hallucination. It wasn’t a threat tossed for dramatic flair.

It was a goddamn ...