The next few hours were a blur of phone calls and tense conversations. Ethan stayed close, never letting his guard down, his watchful eyes always scanning the perimeter. Ferraro's men had left, but the implications of their visit weighed heavily on us. He was making his move, trying to stake his claim before Castellano had even been toppled.
I had tried to stay calm for Ava's sake, but every second felt like we were hurtling toward something unstoppable. The walls were closing in, and the longer we waited, the more dangerous everything became.
By late afternoon, the clouds had thickened, casting a dark gloom over the landscape outside. Martha had taken Ava into one of the back rooms to read, and I found myself pacing the floor again, my mind spinning with the possibilities of what Ferraro's sudden interference meant.
"He's pushing his limits," I muttered, glancing at Ethan, who was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed.
