Chapter 123 - Family Not Furniture

The Calabrian sun was mild that morning, wrapped in soft clouds that dulled the heat but did nothing to quiet the cicadas in the olive groves around the Sanchiano estate.

It had been five days since Donatello and De Marco’s death had occurred. Five days since blood had been spilled in Croatia, since the cries of vengeance had quieted in the echoing tunnels beneath a forgotten fortress.

Now, there was only wind and ghosts.

Talana walked the hallways of the Sanchiano villa like someone still caught between time zones, past, present, and a future she couldn’t yet touch. Her boots whispered across the marble, dark hair still damp from her shower, her eyes dull with exhaustion.

She stopped at Roberto’s study noticing that the door was ajar. The room still held his scent, the embracing scent that was his alone, sandalwood and pipe smoke, and the dust motes swirled like spirits in shafts of golden morning light. She stepped inside, brushing her fingers over the worn leather of his favorite c