Inside the candlelit vestibule of the Convent of Santa Chiara, the air smelled of beeswax, frankincense, and centuries of quiet prayer. When the inner courtyard door opened, twenty-two-year-old Gianna Rossi stumbled into the foyer, wrapped in a simple dark wool shawl over a cream linen dress. Her auburn hair fell in soft curls around a delicate, porcelain face that mirrored Valentina’s, but her hazel eyes were wide with innocent, disbelieving…
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