The speedboat cut its engines a few miles out from a jagged, hidden cove near the base of the Abruzzo foothills. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the rhythmic, hollow slosh of the dark water against the hull. Behind us, the world was burning; here, there was only the cold breath of the sea and the man standing beside me.
Luciano didn't speak. He helped me off the boat with a silent, bruising grip on my waist, his fingers digging into my skin through the damp silk. Every time he touched me, it felt like an electric current was grounding itself in my marrow. We were met by a single, unmarked black SUV. The driver didn't look back; he simply drove, weaving through the mountain passes like a ghost.
As we climbed higher into the peaks, the air grew thin and biting. The lush
