The Cost of Crowns

The helicopter blades tore through the Italian dawn like a warning siren.

Vera stood on the terrace of the Bellanti estate, coat pulled tight around her, eyes tracking the aircraft as it lifted Matteo away. Her son pressed his face to the window, trying to be brave, trying not to cry.

She did not wave.

If she did, she would break.

“Security will move him between three locations,” Luca said beside her. “No patterns. No digital trail.”

“Good,” Vera replied, ...