The wheels of the private jet touched down smoothly against the Italian runway, but the weight pressing on Camilla's chest remained heavy. The past twenty-four hours had been a whirlwind—fleeing New York, packing in a rush, and boarding the jet Gianni had arranged to get them out of the country before Ivanov's men could close in. Enzo had barely spoken since they left, too focused, too tense.
Camilla had slept on the plane, exhaustion winning over the turmoil of her emotions. But Enzo? He hadn't closed his eyes once.
Now, as they stepped out onto the tarmac, the golden afternoon sun bathed the Italian countryside in a warm glow. The air was fresh, crisp, carrying the scent of earth and ripe vineyards.
It was the kind of place that, under different circumstances, could have felt like a r
