Chapter 31
The golden warmth of the Tuscan afternoon felt like an impenetrable fortress, shielding the sandstone villa from the dark world Dante had spent years escaping. The gentle rustle of olive leaves and the distant hum of cicadas painted a scene of pure stillness. Sophia sat by the terracotta planters, humming softly while dusting off blooming red geraniums. Maya stood on the shaded terrace, resting a loving hand over her pregnant belly, watching the little girl with absolute peace. Everything seemed perfect, until the crunch of gravel shattered the silence.
A black sedan stopped outside the wrought-iron gate where the dirt lane met the vineyard. A courier in a gray uniform stepped out, clutching a padded envelope. Dante stiffened instantly. His relaxed demeanor vanished, replaced by the lethal instincts of an apex predator. His pale gray eyes narrowed as he moved toward the gate with silent, calculated strides.
"Delivery for the estate," the courier mumbled, shoving the parcel through the metal bars before Dante could demand an explanation. Without waiting for a response, the stranger hurried back to the vehicle, tearing down the road in a thick cloud of pale dust. Dante picked up the envelope from the gravel. There was no stamp, no return address—only three words written in delicate, slanted cursive that struck him like a physical blow: For my Sophia. It was the unmistakable handwriting of Elena, the mother who had staged her death two years ago to vanish forever.
