Chiara’s Pov

The drive from the Italian border to the coast of Greece was a blur of fear and determination. I had done something Giovanni would have forbidden, something Domenico would never forgive. I had slipped past my sons’ security detail in Bari, refusing to be relegated to the role of the anxious, useful mother who waits by the phone. My sons were obsessed with the logistics of this war, the ships, the assets, the power vacuum. They saw Isabella as the key, the political entity. I ...