I slipped into a lemon-yellow cotton dress with short sleeves and a flared skirt that swayed gently as I moved. After stepping into a pair of kitten heels, I made my way downstairs, where Gosto and Alighiero were already in the salon, laughing over glasses of whiskey.

It was good to see Gosto at ease. He looked completely different from the stern, closed-off man I knew at the Santini Residence. The moment I entered, Alighiero’s eyes landed on me, and a slow, appreciative smile curved his ...