“Hide,” I tell her. She’s good at that. Has been since Mom died. “Go. Hide.” I rush into the closet with her even as I hear footsteps charging up the stairs. “And don’t come out until someone you know and trust comes to get you. Do you understand? Me or Hyacinth. Understand?” She nods, but she looks terrified. “Bastian or Amadeo,” I add at the last minute. She’s squeezing my hand so tight I’m not sure she’ll let go. “No one else. No one!”

She nods, too frightened to even cry. I’m grateful for her silence for the first time ever as she does as I say, and I rush out of the closet and close the door just as soldiers burst into the bedroom.

21

BASTIAN

Our flight is landing when the call comes in, and even though it’s not the middle of the night or in any way unusual for Bruno to be calling at eight in the morning, I know before I answer that something is wrong.

Amadeo and I descend the stairs of the jet and step onto the tarmac. The chopper that will take us up to Ravello is waiting in the distance.

“Bruno?” I ask as I slide the green bar across the screen to accept the call.

“You land?” he asks, voice tight.

“Just now. What is it?” Amadeo and I both stop. I put the phone on speaker and bring it close to our ears, given the noise.

“You need to get to Ravello.”

“What’s happened?”

“We were attacked.”

My heart stops.

“Your mother is okay,” he says. “I’m with her now.”

I wait. So does Amadeo. I don’t think either of us wants to ask the question.

“Francesca was killed. As was the nanny.”

I’m not breathing.

“Vittoria and Emma are gone.”

Gone?

Gone is good, right?

Gone is better than dead.

“Mom wasn’t hurt?”

“No, but she’s upset. Very upset. I’m afraid she might have witnessed the killings.”

“We’re on our way,” Amadeo says.

I disconnect the call and push the phone into my pocket as we run to the chopper. We’re barely strapped in, headsets on, as the pilot takes off, and I dig my phone out of my pocket.

Me: Jarno?

Bruno: Badly injured. He won’t make it. It’s a fucking massacre. I’ve alerted our men in Naples, and a few are on their way here.

I show the phone to Amadeo so he can read the text.

I look at Amadeo. “We need to move her.”

“Agree. I’ll make a call as soon as we land. Call in another favor.”

“Who?”

“Stefan Sabbioni. We’ll send her to Sicily.”