Chapter One Hundred and Ninety-Five
Alicia's POV
The estate was quiet.
Too quiet for a place that had been under threat just hours ago. The extra security guards still patrolled the grounds. Lights blazed from every corner. But inside, the house felt oddly peaceful.
I sat in the kitchen with Signora Moretti. She was teaching me how to make her mother's pasta sauce. Something to do with my hands. Something to keep my mind occupied while Malachi was still in Paris.
"The secret is patience," she said, stirring the pot. "You can't rush good sauce. You let it simmer. Let the flavors develop."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes."
I smiled despite everything. "That's not very specific."
"Cooking is not about specifics. It's about feeling. About knowing when something is ready."
Sophie sat at the table doing homework. Or pretending to. She'd been staring at the same page for twenty minutes.
"He's going to be fine," I told her.
"You don't know that."
