The room where Svetlana was being held was small, yet decorated with a restrained luxury that only deepened the irony of her situation. The curtains, pristine white, clashed with the reality of the prison they represented, and the window—secured with wrought-iron bars—let in a faint light that barely softened the chill of dawn in Gambarie d’Aspromonte. From there, a mist-covered mountain landscape unfolded—a cruel reminder of the freedom that had been taken from her.

Svetlana paced back and for