The jet hummed steady as it cut through the dark, heading for New York. Below, the Atlantic stretched like endless black glass.

Sophia slept curled against Alessandro’s chest, her tiny breaths warming the fabric of his shirt. At seven months old, she should’ve known nothing but lullabies and sunlight. Instead, she’d already survived kidnappings, fire, and the kind of shadows no child should ever see.

Alessandro’s hand moved absently over her back, the rhythm protective, restless. His ...