Mandy hated the silence.

The safehouse was too clean, too quiet, too far from her life. She paced the living room like a caged animal, her bare feet silent on the polished floor.

Her mom would’ve laughed.

Or cried.

Or told her I warned you about pretty boys in dark suits.

Mandy dropped onto the couch with a groan, head in her hands. She hadn’t cried yet, not really. But she could feel it building, just under her skin.

The door opened.

Dante walked in like he owned the world, and her place ...