Chapter 8 – The Chase
Florence, 1533
The air was thick with smoke and panic.
Word had spread faster than a wildfire: Beatrice and Matteo had vanished.
The courtyard bustled with guards shouting orders, searching every shadow, every alleyway. The House of Vescovi seethed with rage, their men hunting for the runaway noblewoman like a pack of wolves.
Beatrice's heart pounded in her chest as she and Matteo slipped through the narrow backstreets, clutching a small bag of belongings and stolen moments.
"We can't stop," Matteo urged, eyes scanning the darkened streets. "They'll catch us if we hesitate."
"But where?" Beatrice whispered, breath ragged. "The river? The hills? The sea?"
"Anywhere but here," he said grimly.
A whistle split the night. They froze.
"Guards."
Matteo grabbed her hand. "Run."
They dashed toward the Arno, shadows clinging to their heels.
Florence, Present Day
Sofia's fingers trembled as she traced the worn stones of the villa's cellar wall.
Behind a loose brick, she found a narrow keyhole.
"Marco, look at this."
He joined her, pulling a delicate iron key from his pocket—the same one he had found in the stables.
With a click, a hidden door creaked open, revealing a dark spiral staircase descending into the earth.
"Do you think…?" Sofia began.
"Yes," Marco said, voice low. "I think someone hid something down there. Or maybe, someone escaped through this."
Together, they stepped into the shadows, the past pulling them deeper into a story that refused to stay buried.