Vera

The night carried a silence that pressed against the skin, heavy and watching.

Vera stood at the edge of the estate’s private gardens, her fingers brushing over the wrought-iron railing, her mind a storm of calculation and dread. The Tuscan wind carried a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature—it was the scent of danger that only a mother, a woman who had lost and gained everything, could recognize.

Vanessa slept in her room upstairs, guarded by layers of security designed ...