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A few hours later, the plane touched down in Milan.

Before getting off, I got a text from Beatrice. Said she was worried about me navigating a new city alone and had arranged a pickup at the airport.

I scanned the arrivals hall. No one with a sign. I was reaching for my phone when someone called out behind me.

"Nina!"

I turned.

A lean, sunny-eyed man was walking toward me with an easy, open face.

"Sorry, you are…?"

He did a theatrical look of hurt, eyes full of laughter. "Five years away and you don't recognize your old lab partner anymore?"

A memory swam up—a younger face, bloodshot from an all-nighter over data.

"Tim?"

He nodded, grinning, and took my carry-on. "Come on. Professor's been waiting like he's counting the days."

Five years ago, I'd turned down Pemberton's offer and moved to Manhattan for Dante.

Five years later, I was coming back. Not because of Pemberton's call.

Because of Isobel's.

Yes. Isobel herself had called me. Told me she was carrying Dante's child.