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I open one eye and stare at the ceiling.

No. Absolutely not.

The pounding comes again, followed by a voice calling, “Eleonora!”

I groan and grab my phone from the nightstand.

6:57 a.m.

From the bed beside mine, Chiara makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a threat before pulling the sheet over her head.

“Eleonora!”

“Oh my God,” she mumbles from underneath it. “Make them go away.”

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Because they're your dead husband's family.”

Fair.

I stumble out of bed, pull on a pair of shorts and open the door with my hair probably looking like I spent the night fighting for my life.

One of Damiano's uncles is standing there, smiling as though seven in the morning is a perfectly reasonable time to wake someone up.

“Buongiorno!”

“Buongiorno?” I manage, although it comes out sounding more like a question.

He launches into something in dialect, speaking far too quickly for my brain to understand at this hour, then points towards the stairs and starts walking away as though that explained everything.

“Wait. Where are we going?”

He turns around.

“Colazione.”

“I can eat breakfast here.”

His expression changes so dramatically you'd think I'd just insulted his mother.

“No.”

Okay then.

Ten minutes later, all five of us are standing outside the hotel looking like we've been kidnapped.

Jude is wearing a T-shirt and shorts, his hair still messy from sleep, while Dex somehow looks even less awake than I feel. Lexy has sunglasses on despite the sun barely having made it over the buildings, and Chiara keeps staring at me as though this is somehow my fault.

“I hate your husband's family,” she mutters.

“No, you don't.”

“No, I don't.”

Our kidnapper is waiting proudly beside a small mobile food stall parked near the road, where a vendor is preparing breakfast.

And then I see what he's arranged.