SOPHIA'S POV

The sirens of the Interpol cars faded away into the winding hills of Tuscany, and behind them came a strange, heavy quiet. The smell of burnt powder, flashbang smoke, and broken oak hung thick in the entrance of our stone house.

I stood near the splintered front doors, resting my arm against the frame as the rush of the fight slowly drained out of my body. My hands were still shaking, not from fear now, but from the cold understanding of how easily our safe little world had almost fallen apart.

Small dents from bullets marked the stone near the door, and pieces of the broken battering ram...