Chapter Seventeen
Volterra, Italy
The smell of fresh bread and garlic lured Sophia into the small makeshift kitchen, where Adamicz was attending to the oven. With a dish towel wrapping one hand, he removed a skillet from inside. She could see what looked like a thick, pie-shaped frittata, puffy and golden, with patches of dark green and white.
Sophia had yet to figure out Adamicz’s motives. She’d checked her bedroom for surveillance devices. There were none. She’d checked the bed frame, her clothes, even her own body. Nothing. There were no alarm bells going off in her head about him. And that’s what disturbed her.
‘My family weren’t killed in a terrorist attack, were they?’ she said.
Adamicz jolted, surprised to see her standing there. ‘No.’
‘Denton told me they—’ She stopped hersel
