RJ’s spirits began to lift, despite the thunderstorm that came up, spitting upon the train as they finally rolled into Florence.

At least they’d be safe. And she had to believe that somehow, York would find her.

The sky had cleared by the time their taxi arrived, the sun burning away the clouds, turning the world a watery orange. She got her only good glimpse of the Mattucci estate in the final hour of sunlight, turning the home a deep umber as they drove into the courtyard.

The house, three stone-built stories under a terracotta thatched roof, with green shutters and thick wrought-iron had clearly been built in stages, with the main house added after the smaller villa, set off to the side, with arched windows and a large terrace.

Thick clematis vines clung to the walls of both houses, lush with delicate purple flowers, and pink begonias spilled out of massive terracotta pots planted by the rounded wooden double door to the main house.

The driver let them off, and RJ stood for a bit in the cobblestone drive of the home, caught in the splendor. “This is breathtaking.”

Hana found a kitty, and chased it across the drive, toward the back of the house.

“You live in a postcard.” She glanced at Ziggy, who was getting out, retrieving her backpack and tipping the driver with euros.

She hiked one side of the pack over her shoulder. Took in the view, then, “No. I live in a two-room flat in a city with a view of the building next door. But my parents live on 30,000 acres of ancient chianti vineyard, complete with wine grottos for our casks, a pressing house, a fermenting room and a terrazzo for tastings.”

RJ gave her a look. “Tastings?”

“It’s a working winery. And an inn, which is why I had to make sure they had room for us. But right now, they only have one guest coming, so I booked us a couple rooms.”

“I thought it was a safe house.” She’d envisioned a tiny, windowless house with bodyguards, dogs and maybe a perimeter fence.

“Look around. Do you feel safe?” Ziggy smiled, one of the first she’d seen. The woman had a beauty deep in her bones she probably didn’t even realize.

RJ met her smile. “I feel hidden in a storybook.”

“Perfect. I promise, you’ll be safe here.” Ziggy headed off after Hana, and RJ followed her. They passed under an arbor, following a cobblestone path toward the back of the house.

“My great-great grandfather Massimo built the main house, and the cottage house was converted into the summer kitchen, around the turn of the century. He was the true vintner in the family. He took our chianti grapes and crafted wine that started winning awards.