The storm broke before dawn.

A flash of lightning split the sky, thunder rolled across the valley, and the vineyard awoke to the sound of rain hammering against the windows like warning drums. Dante had barely slept. He sat in the dim light of the underground room, his back against the wall, gun laid across his lap.

Isabella stirred beside him, the echo of thunder drawing her from uneasy dreams. Her eyes fluttered open, confusion crossing her features before memory rushed back like a slap.

“Dante?” she whispered.

He turned to her, his expression already hard. “Stay quiet, bella. They’re close.”

Her pulse quickened. “How close?”

He checked the small...