The farmhouse, once a sanctuary of soft light and the smell of baking bread, transformed in an instant into a theater of war. The shattering of the kitchen window was followed by a silence so heavy it felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Then, the rhythmic pop-pop-pop of suppressed rifles began to chew into the stone siding of the house.

"The cellar, Elena! Now!" Alessandro roared.

I didn't move. My feet were rooted to the terracotta. I watched Leo—my Leo, who yesterday was ...