Lia’s POV

The walls of the small house felt tighter tonight, the air heavier. Something was coming. I could feel it. I sat at the worn-out kitchen table, gripping my mug with both hands, my pulse uneven. The tea had gone cold, untouched. Across the room, Luca played with his toy truck, blissfully unaware that our world was about to shatter. I had spent three years looking over my shoulder, three years keeping my son hidden, believing—hoping—that Dante would never find us. But I knew ...