The early morning mist clung to the vineyard like a living thing, curling around the rows of grapevines and pooling in the hollows of the uneven terrain. Isabella sat on the wooden balcony of the small cottage, wrapped tightly in a blanket, her fingers nervously tracing the edges of the flash drive she had taken from the safe house the night before. Each second of silence pressed heavily on her chest, as if the quiet carried the weight of all the secrets she had yet to confront.

Dante was nowhere in sight. He had gone ahead to scout the perimeter, making sure they were not being followed or watched. But...