THIRTY-FOUR
Her breath came harsh and ragged. Her fingers tingled as the blood swooshed through them. The cool night air evaporated any moisture on her body and she plucked the rough, muslin gown away from her skin.
Sophia ran through the tenebrous calli of Murano, turning right out of the courtyard, onto the Calle Miotti, and away from the larger fondamenta, possessing no more than a vague certainty of where she should go. As her steps pounded the hard ground, her mind beat out a cadence, as if to repeat the words over and over would make them so.
He must be there. I will find him. He will help me.
She had been to the villas before, been to the rich parish where most of the wealthy noblemen kept their summer homes. She remembered the yellow brick of the Navagero family holiday home, t
