C105 Wouldn't Wait Forever

Dante had chosen to drive.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as the car rolled down the quiet, uneven street.

The weight of Annabelle’s silence filled the small space, pressing on him like a storm about to break.

Something made his eyes flick into the rearview mirror, and he caught sight of Patrick Shaw in the distance.

He was standing near the edge of the house’s yard.

Dante’s jaw tightened at the sight of the man, his presence a thorn buried deep under his skin.

“Persistent bastard,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that neither Annabelle nor Cathy would catch it.

Patrick’s figure faded into the distance as the car moved on, but Dante’s mind lingered on him. He’d told the man to stay the hell away from Annabelle, and for the most part, Patrick seemed to have gotten the message.

After all, he had gotten his fucking self out of the house before Annabelle stepped in.

But there Patrick was, lurking like a shadow, hovering on the edge of Annabelle’s life.

He was sure he would stay on in Stoneraine and probably work a number on Annabelle’s mom again.

He couldn’t understand how a woman like that could give birth to someone like Annabelle.

He glanced at her, seated beside him with her hands resting stiffly in her lap.

She was staring out the window, her expression unreadable and

Her soft features were framed by the loose waves of her hair that fell over her shoulders. The sunlight caught in her chestnut locks, creating a halo of warm amber.

He hated the fact that her face was pale, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

She was deep in thought, lost in whatever had transpired inside that house.

He didn’t like it.

The urge to ask what had happened, but he forced himself to hold back.

She wasn’t ready for his questions.

Instead, he turned his attention back to the road, his gaze narrowing.

Patrick’s intentions weren’t clear, and Dante didn’t trust the man for a second.

The supposed story was that he wanted to reconnect with his family, to fix what he’d broken when he walked out on them over a decade ago.

But Dante knew better than to take men like him at face value.

There was always another angle, another reason.

He reached for his phone, typing a quick message to one of his men.

“I want a full report on Patrick Shaw’s activities for the last twelve years. Everything.”

He hit send, his thumb hovering over the screen for a moment before he sent another message.

“Leave someone in Stoneraine. I want Mauve Whitaker watched. Nothing too close. Just enough to keep an eye on her.”

His lip curled faintly.

Mauve wasn’t his problem, and frankly, he didn’t care what became of her.

Women like her, who failed to protect the ones who depended on them, were nothing more than liabilities in his eyes.

But Annabelle… Annabelle would care, and that was enough to make him act.

His gaze slid towards her again, lingering.

Her shoulders were stiff and her posture rigid, but there was a tension in her jaw he didn’t miss. Whatever happened back there, it hadn’t been what she expected.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice low, careful.

She didn’t look at him.

She didn’t even flinch.

“No,” she said softly, her tone carrying an edge of finality.

Dante’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

Fine.

She didn’t want to talk, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a good idea of what was running through her head.

“Your mother didn’t fight you,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

Annabelle turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting his for a brief second before she looked away again. “No,” she admitted. “She didn’t.”

That alone surprised him.

He’d been prepared to step into that house and drag Annabelle out if necessary, to deal with Mauve himself if it came down to it.

But apparently, that hadn’t been needed.

“And the bags?” he pressed, keeping his tone neutral.

“She… agreed,” Annabelle said, her voice faltering. “I didn’t think she would, but she did.”

Dante frowned, his brow furrowing.

He didn’t trust how easy it had been.

There was no way Mauve had simply stepped aside without some lingering motive or guilt. People didn’t just change overnight.

“She said she wouldn’t fight me,” Annabelle added quietly.

Dante scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t change the fact that she failed you both for years.”

Annabelle’s head snapped toward him, her eyes flashing. “Don’t,” she said sharply.

“Don’t what?” he asked, his voice hardening. “Tell the truth?”

Her silence spoke volumes.

Dante’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t push further.

Annabelle’s softness, and her loyalty to people who didn’t deserve it, frustrated him to no end.

And yet, he knew it was also part of what drew him to her.

Part of what made her different from the cold, calculating world he navigated every day.

He exhaled sharply, redirecting his thoughts.

“You were talking to the neighbour,” he said, changing the subject. “What was that about?”

Annabelle hesitated, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I asked her to look after my mother,” she admitted.

Dante bit back the urge to scoff again.

Of course, she had.

“And?” he prompted.

“And I got her number,” Annabelle said, her tone defensive now.

She looked like she wanted to swallow something, but she said anyway, “I’ll send her money when I can.”

He was sure she was expecting an argument from him.

He couldn’t stop the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. “You’re too soft, you know that?”

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Caring about people isn’t a weakness,” she shot back.

“No,” he agreed, his voice lowering as he glanced at her. “But trusting the wrong people is.”

She fell silent again, turning back to the window, but he could see the tension in her jaw.

Dante shifted his attention to Cathy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the exchange.

The little girl sat in the back seat, clutching a stuffed animal.

It was a worn, fraying bear that had clearly seen better days.

He wondered what the girl would think of the surprise awaiting her.

She looked out the window as well, her small face drawn with uncertainty.

He exhaled, his thoughts drifting back to Patrick.

The man’s reappearance wasn’t something he could ignore. There was more to the story, and Dante intended to uncover every detail.

The car slowed as they reached the outskirts of town, the familiar sight of open roads stretching ahead.

Stoneraine faded into the background, a place Dante hoped Annabelle wouldn’t look back to.

“You’re not regretting leaving, are you?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm.

Annabelle’s eyes flicked to him briefly before she looked away again.

“No,” she said, though the hesitation in her voice didn’t escape him.

Dante clenched his jaw. “Good,” he said curtly. “Because there’s nothing for you there.”

The words came out harsher than he intended, but he didn’t take them back. Annabelle didn’t belong in Stoneraine, surrounded by the ghosts of her past.

She belonged with him.

He didn’t say it aloud, but the thought burned in his chest.

He would make her see it.

He would make her understand that she was his.

That her place was by his side.

And if she wouldn’t listen to his words.

Then he’d show her through his actions until she couldn’t deny it any longer.

Dante glanced at her again, at the tight line of her shoulders and the faraway look in her eyes.

His hands itched to reach for her.

To pull her against him and erase the pensive expression on her face.

But her stiff posture warned him against it, so he kept his hands on the wheel instead.

For now.

But he wouldn’t wait forever.