The descent into the Amalfi Coast was a dizzying blur of azure water and sun-bleached limestone. As the private car wound its way along the precarious curves of the coastal road, the Mediterranean breeze swept through the open windows, carrying the scent of salt and ripening lemons. It was a sensory paradise, yet for Kai and Elea, the beauty was merely a veil. They were entering a new theater of operations, hand-picked by Ethel Bowie to ensure her most valuable asset remained within the tight grip of her European radar.
The villa appeared suddenly, a masterpiece of white stucco and terracotta perched precariously on a jagged cliff edge. It was isolated, accessible only by a single private road that clung to the mountainside. To any other honeymooning couple, it would have been the pinnac
