We sit in tense silence, the chopper flying too slowly. When it finally lands in Ravello, we’re both running across the lawn toward the back entrance of the house. I can already see the carnage, the blood on the furniture Mom loves to sit on to look out at the garden as she has her tea in the afternoons. The knocked over chairs. The downed men.

Amadeo makes the call, keeping it brief. Two men who are usually stationed at the Naples house emerge armed with automatic rifles slung over their chests. They’re wearing protective gear like they’re ready for war.

Bruno walks out behind them, his face grave.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask.

“Doctor just gave her a sedative. She’s in her room. Go see her. She’ll feel better when she sees your faces.”

We nod, and both go upstairs, taking in the destruction of the house—the walls riddled with bullets, the glass shards of the windows on the stained marble floor. Armed soldiers stand at the front doors and at every window.

Mom’s room is at the far end. I notice the open door of Emma’s bedroom and stop to pick up the stuffed pig she’d been carrying that day I took her from the shrink’s office. I pick it up as we walk to Mom’s bedroom, and I see Amadeo’s eyes move to the closed door of Vittoria’s room. The one she was locked in when we first took her. Before she was anything to us other than the enemy.

Vittoria is safe for now, as is Emma. They could have killed them along with the rest and left their bodies for us to find. But they didn’t. They’re alive.

“Mom?” Amadeo says as we walk in. Her doctor is standing beside the bed, and a nurse is adjusting the blankets.

“The sedative I gave her is strong,” the doctor says, moving away as we approach the bed where Mom opens her eyes and reaches out a hand. I take it.

“Mom.” I brush her hair back from her face. She looks up at me, then at Amadeo and takes his hand too.

“They didn’t get you,” she says, drawing us closer. “They didn’t get you.”

“No, we’re okay, Mom. You go to sleep now. We’ll talk about it when you wake up.”

“Francesca,” she says, and tears roll down her face.

“Shh. Close your eyes, Mom. Go to sleep.” She does because of the sedative, and we turn to the doctor.

“She’s physically all right.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Amadeo says. “We’re moving her. You and the nurse will go with her?” Although he asks it as a question, it’s not.

The doctor glances at the woman who nods. “Of course.”

“Your cell phones, Doctor.”

He raises his eyebrows.

“For her safety.”