The fleet sailed into the storm on a Tuesday.
Luca Ferretti stood at the bow of the largest ship—a converted cargo vessel his grandfather had helped refurbish during the years between The Night and Nova Roma—and watched the Atlantic throw everything it had at them. Waves crashed over the bow, salt water flooding the deck, children screaming and laughing and clinging to the railings with white-knuckled hands. There were forty-three ships in...
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