I ran toward the entrance of the villa, my breathing shallow and fast.

My sandals slapped against the stone floor.

I reached the heavy wooden front door and grabbed the iron latch.

Before I could pull it, a shadow fell across the frosted glass pane.

The door swung inward, and a tall man stood in the opening, blocking the light.

The man was tall, with dark hair cropped close to his skull and eyes that held no warmth.

His tailored grey suit fit his broad shoulders closely.

This was Matteo Vitale.

I had seen him in the background of the restaurant once, standing silent behind his uncle.

Now, he blocked the exit like a wall of solid stone.

“Move,” I said, my voice cracking.

He did not budge.

His hand rested on the iron frame of the door, keeping it firmly shut.

“The street is not safe for you, signorina,” Matteo said.

His voice was low, carrying a deep, gravelly rasp.

“I don’t care,” I said, trying to push past him.

My shoulder hit his chest, but it was like colliding with a brick wall.