Most Sundays at the Giorgetti compound began with Chopin. The notes would dance through the empty halls, trailing through filtered light and walnut railings. Since arriving in Southport, Isabella had cherished these mornings, taking each one in the sitting room with a cappuccino and a plain cornetto. That day,...

Summer was in full swing. Demos had found shelter beneath a bodega awning, inching sideways as the shadow crept with the minutes. Countless people had walked past, yet he had barely taken notice of any of them. The white-hot pavement and vague scents from a sewer grate had also...