The first bullet tore through the heavy oak of the front door, splintering the air with the smell of centuries-old sap and cordite. Matteo didn’t flinch. He shoved Giulia toward the cellar door, his movements a blur of practiced lethality.
"Go!" he roared over the c***k of a second shot. "Don't look back until you hear the signal!"
Giulia stumbled into the darkness of the cellar, the heavy iron bolt sliding home behind her. The space smelled of cold earth and fermented grapes, the silence down there a crushing weight compared to the violent symphony erupting above. She could hear the rhythmic thud-thud of Riccardo’s rifle and the sharper, faster response of Matteo’s handgun.
She found the radio on a workbench, its vacuum tubes glowing a ghostly orange in the gloom. Her fingers shook as
