The transition from the war room to the nursery had been jarring, but necessary. After the meeting with Domenico, I had returned immediately, needing to ground myself in the quiet reality of my family. I spent the afternoon holding Giovanni, watching the small, peaceful breaths that expanded and contracted his chest, a testament to Isabella’s fight.

Isabella was asleep now, resting heavily in our bed after a difficult bout of weeping. She had allowed me to hold her hand until her eyes finally ...