The initial blast shook the mansion shortly after twelve.
Isla sat up fast, the sound of breaking glass ringing in her ears. Outside the strong stone walls, alarms blared in the distance. Her chest felt tight as the ground trembled beneath her. For a moment, she worried that the fighting had reached the mansion, that the walls around her had failed to keep death away.
Heavy footsteps echoed in the halls just outside her room. People yelled in Italian, their voices urgent and filled with worry. She caught bits of orders, the sound of boots on marble, and the noise of weapons being prepared.
Then her door swung open.
Dante stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders lit by the lamp. His shirt was only partially buttoned, and his dark coat hung awkwardly over his shoulders. But his eyes, sharp and cold, were steady. They calmed her fear more than the walls did.
"Get dressed," he said.
