The knock on the safehouse door was not the frantic, heavy pounding of an attack. It was precise. Two firm, measured raps.

Eva’s head snapped up from where she was trying to coax rice cereal into Sophia. Her body went rigid, one hand instinctively reaching for the knife hidden under the table. Alessandro was across the room in a fluid motion, his pistol already in his hand, his body positioned between the door and his family.

The knock came again. Polite. Insistent.

Alessandro moved to the ...