Dante’s POV

The atmosphere within the car was dense with quietness. Not the reassuring type. Not the type that allowed him to breathe. This was the type of silence that enveloped a person’s neck and tightened. Dante was indifferent to it. He had resided in it for so long that he no longer feared it. But Lia—she moved next to him, her fingers clutching her thigh, her eyes darting toward the window. Uneasy. Uncomfortable. She was anticipating. Awaiting him to express something. Hoping he ...