The man took me to a private runway. A private jet was waiting for us, its engines roaring, ready to take off. He dragged me onto the plane and then pressed my shoulders down to sit in the expensive leather seat. This should have been a pleasant flight with first-class amenities, had it not been for the horrific, bloody incident.

“We’re leaving for Sicily now,” the man said to the pilot.

He was taking me to Sicily? What was Alana’s plan? Why would she take me to her house if she was ...