Dante got in behind the wheel, the smell of expensive leather and tobacco filling the cabin.

He put the truck in gear, and the trailer lurched behind us as we pulled out of the dirt lot and onto the dark, empty highway.

The ride was silent, the headlights cutting through the thick fog that rolled off the nearby hills.

After forty minutes of winding roads, the truck slowed down before a massive set of wrought-iron gates.

The gates swung open automatically, revealing a long, paved driveway lined with ancient oak trees.

At the end of the driveway stood the Moretti estate, a sprawling stone mansion surrounded by high security fences.

We bypassed the main house and drove directly to the stables, a modern, heated building that looked more like a hospital than a barn.

Dante parked the truck and got out, and I followed him into the bright, clean stable aisle.

The air inside smelled of sweet hay, pine shavings, and expensive leather.

Two guards opened the back of the trailer, and we carefully guided Vesper down the ramp.