I clutched the babies and stepped out into the damp, cold air.

My shoes sank into the wet gravel.

Leo walked ahead of us, his coat flaring behind him as he climbed the wide stone steps.

The heavy oak front door was opened from the inside by another silent man in a dark suit.

The warmth of the foyer hit me first, followed by the smell of beeswax, old carpets, and woodsmoke.

It was a beautiful house, but it felt like a tomb.

The floors were dark herringbone oak, polished to a high shine.

A massive crystal chandelier hung from the double-height ceiling, casting long shadows across the walls.

Leo took off his coat and handed it to the man at the door.

“Take her to the library,” Leo said.

“And the children?” the man asked.

“Keep them with her,” Leo said. “For now.”

The man nodded and gestured for me to follow him down a wide hallway.

The walls were lined with oil paintings of stern-faced men and women.

They all had the same sharp Romano nose and dark eyes.