The relentless sun's rays seared through the bus window, each beam intensifying the harsh reality of my situation, tightening around me like a boa constrictor. I was now an orphan, haunted by the horrifying images of my mother's tragic death that played mercilessly on a loop in my mind. The weight of guilt pressed upon my chest, agonizing and all consuming.

The events of the previous night unfolded in my thoughts like a macabre scene from a horror movie. Though I had emerged from the explosion with comparably minor injuries – a gash on my head, throbbing ribs, and ears ringing from the deafening blast – my mother had not been spared such mercy. The fiery inferno had engulfed both my mother's car and the black sedan that had collided with her, sealing their fate in a tragic blast. There was no chance for survival.

In that moment, my own survival instinct seized control, as I fought to contain my streaming tears in a tightly sealed box. With nothing but my worn backpack and clothes on my back, I stumbled to the bus station, purchasing a one-way ticket to Catania onboard. Sicily, the place that held a treasure trove of ten years' worth of beautiful memories, would now forever be left behind, consumed by the flames.

As I settled into my seat, I felt the weight of other's passengers' curious gazes on me. Ignoring their prying eyes, I opened my mother's envelope, miraculously unscathed from the blast, desperate to find understanding in the words she wrote.

"My sweet Maddie," the letter began, written in her distinct handwriting that carried the weight of her absence.

"I'm so sorry I'm not here to explain this to you and defend our decision to keep this from you, but I need you to know that every choice we made was with your well-being in mind."

As I read on, the tears welled in my eyes, blurring the ink on the page.

"You're about to meet your family. There's not much I can say in a letter, in case it falls into the wrong hands, but if you're reading this, you've likely witnessed the consequences of that.

I need you to trust Isabel for me, and nobody else. She'll get you back home safely.

I love you, and always will.

Forever, your mum."

Enclosed in the letter were two hundred euros and a faded polaroid photo of an elegant, older Italian woman with cropped dark hair, bearing the handwritten name "Isabel" at the bottom. On the back, the address of Zecchi's, along with the bus number, was hastily scrawled. My trembling hands held onto the paper, clinging to it as the last tangible connection I had to my mother.

In the very early hours of the morning, the bus arrived in one of Florence's ancient winding streets, mere steps away from my destination. Without wasting a moment, and after thanking the bus driver, I set foot on the path indicated by my cracked, yet functional phone. A fortunate four-minute walk through the backstreets led me to the quaint art shop nestled at the end of an alley, with an aged sign bearing the name "Zecchi's".

Uncertainty washed over me as I peered into the dimly lit shop through its weathered glass and for a moment, I had a lapse in confidence as the absurdity of the situation crashed on me in one swoop. What on earth was I doing here, at two in the morning, on the run from elusive strangers who hunted us down, claimed my mother's life, and rendered me an orphan? The absurdity of it all would have been laughable if not for the cruel reality I know found myself in.

I steeled myself and rapped on the ancient Italian knocker against the imposing oak door. One. Two. Three.

Silence.

I swallowed hard, tears welling up in my eyes. For what felt like the twentieth time this morning, I fought against the overwhelming tide, reminding myself to hold on, just a little longer. Safety was just a door away – literally – and only then would I allow myself to process the events of the past hours.

With renewed determination, I knocked with greater force. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Silence.

Finally, desperation gripped me and and against my better judgement, I relentlessly knocked until my knuckles throbbed with pain. On what must have been the twentieth knock, the heavy door was pulled open, revealing Isabel standing before me. A little older than in the photo, she appeared dishevelled in her white nightgown, her hair tousled as if I had just awakened her from a deep slumber.

"What an earth-" she began to say before her gaze fell on me.

Both of us stood there, locked in a moment of recognition, and I watched as an indescribable sadness clouded her features. Isabel knew. I had no idea how she knew, but in that moment, she understood that Abigail was no longer here. The pain etched on her face mirrored the ache within my own heart.

Without uttering a single word, she closed the distance between us. Her eyes welled up with unspoken grief as she reached out, her trembling hand gently touching my arm. Then, with a tenderness only a mother could provide, she enveloped me in a warm embrace, as if to shield me from the bullets of the world.

"Mi Tesoro, I am so sorry," she murmured softly into my hair.

For the first time since my mother's death – although mere hours had passed, it felt like an eternity – I felt the tension flow out of me as if she was taking it from me, in its place offering a blissful reassurance of safety and security.

She pulled away far sooner than either of us would have liked, leading me inside the darkness of the shop with a gentle but firm grasp on my wrist. She guided me through the shop's interior and up a narrow staircase to what appeared to be her apartment.

An inexplicable sense of relief washed over me as this woman seated me at her small kitchen table and promptly poured a glass of water. The relief was overwhelming, almost pushing me to the brink of breaking down. She was still technically a stranger and yet her assumption of control felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off my shoulders, finally allowing me to breathe.

I sat there motionless, transfixed by her presence as she placed the glass in front of me along with two tablets. I felt as if I were watching the world move on while I remained frozen in time or grief.

"Were you followed, Maddie?" Isabel's voice remained gentle as she took a seat next to me, closer than comfort allowed.

I met her gaze, feeling as though I was looking at her and hearing her from underwater.

"Maddie?" she persisted.

"Hm?" I questioned, blinking my attention back to her.

"Were you followed?" She asked softly, as if not wanting to disturb this strange sense of trust that had formed between us.

Shaking my head, I managed to say, "I don't think so. I took the bus, like Mum said."

"Good. Good girl," she murmured, a flicker of relief passing her face.

Then, unexpectedly, she began tending to the cut on my forehead with a first aid kit that seemingly materialized out of nowhere. The sting of the antiseptic was noticeable but inconsequential compared to the pain in my ribs and ache consuming my heart. Amidst the chaos, a thought resurfaced in my mind.

I grabbed Isabel's arm tightly. "Wait, we need to go the police. You have to call them."

"You need to rest," she countered, her voice gentle yet firm. "I'll take care of everything now."

"You promise?"

"I promise," she affirmed with steadfast conviction. "Now take these and drink some water."

Scepticism clouded my thoughts as I eyed the two white pills she offered.

"Painkillers. I promise," she assured, melting my resistance.

Craving the numbing relief they might bring, I obediently swallowed the pills, savouring each sip of cool liquid that flowed down my parched throat. My eyes remained locked on hers and I found solace in the unwavering connection.

"Mio povero bambino," she murmured softly while attending to the cut above my eye with delicate care. They were words I couldn't fully comprehend but found comfort in nonetheless. "Are you hurting anywhere else?"

My ribs throbbed with pain, but in comparison to my mother's suffering it felt immeasurable. I shook my head, feeling the familiar sting of unwelcome tears, undeserved tears.

"What's happening?" I uttered, the sound barely audible yet resonating loudly in the stillness of the room.

Isabel took a deep breath, her gaze heavy with regret. "Your mother kept many things from you," she confessed, shaking her head as if burdened by the weight of secrets.

"How do you know her?" I asked quietly.

"You're my goddaughter, Tesoro," she revealed softly, running her fingers over my bruised knuckles. "Your mother and I were like sisters."

The weight of her revelation settled upon me slowly.

"Goddaughter," I repeated, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. The notion of having family other than her was unfathomable. It had always been the pair of us.

Isabel's silence spoke volumes.

"How did you know she was gone?" I continued on, the words catching in my throat like a shard of glass.

"I promise I'll tell you everything, but you need to rest," she urged, deciding to put an end to my impromptu interrogation.

"I need answers," I pleaded, desperation lacing my voice.

"You'll get them. Now, come, lie on the sofa for a bit."

Reluctantly allowing her to guide me out of the kitchen and into the small living space, I settled onto the sofa, feeling her presence beside me. She tucked a blanket around me, a temporary haven of security.

"I can't sleep," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. Haunted by the echoes of the night's events, I refused to yield to its exhaustion.

"Try," she said.

"Will you call the police?"

"I'll take care of everything."

"Am I going to live with you now?" The question slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

"Rest, Maddie," she replied softly, her voice laced with a tinge of sadness and resolute determination. "I'll just be next door."

I faintly recall the sound of her footsteps as she walked next door, the creak of the floorboards beneath her weight, and the hushed tones of her conversation on the phone. As consciousness slowly slipped away, I took solace in the knowledge that she was taking action with the authorities. And with that thought, I surrendered to sleep's embrace, allowing it to carry me away from the rawness of the night's events, if only for a brief respite.

-----------------

When I woke, the room was bathed in a soft warm glow. For a fleeting moment, it resembled the familiar embrace of my room in our Sampieri cottage, where mornings would be greeted with beach walks and bakery breakfasts with mum. The vision was so vivid that I allowed myself to believe, just for a moment, that I was there. But as reality shattered the illusion, a pang og longing pierced my chest.

Blinking twice, I forced my eyes to fully open, taking in the humble surroundings of Isabel's one-bedroom apartment. Stripped of the haze of shock, I now noticed it's small yet cosy, adorned with carefully chosen decorations and vibrant paintings. My throat tightened at the thought that Mum might have sat in this very spot, gazing upon the same artwork.

Attempting to sit, a jolt of pain shot through my ribs, a reminder of the agony I had witnessed. I winced, feeling the tender bruising beneath my fingertips. It was a relentless ache, magnifying the weight of grief that crashed upon me once more. Without the shield of terror, the reality of her absence surged through my fragile defences.

Amidst the haze of my emotions, the low voices drifting from the kitchen drew my attention. They murmured in hushed towns, their conversation laced with concern and urgency. Curiosity and a longing for connection propelled me forward. With slow, deliberate movements, I pushed myself up, wincing at the ache in my ribs and cautiously made my way towards the source of the voices.

"She doesn't know?" I heard a deep, yet surprisingly warm voice inquired.

"She needed rest, but you're early," Isabel replied with a hint of censure.

"With all due respect, Isabel, we're not going to waste time when we find our s-"

A throat cleared. Another man's voice, deeper and commanding, joined the conversation.

At that moment, I decided to step forward, my feet echoing on the wooden floorboard as I turned the corner. My heart skipped a beat, pounding in my chest as I confronted the scene before me. Isabel had her back turned, engaged in a heated discussion with two men who were facing me in the kitchen.

The man closest to me and Isabel commanded attention, towering above any person I had encountered at six two. Authority emanated from every inch of him, an indescribable intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Clad in a perfectly pressed, dark suit, he stood in stark contrast to the modest surroundings.

Yet, it was the second man, a few steps behind him, who captured my attention like a magnet. His stance was deceptively casual as he lent against the kitchen sideboard, his warm green eyes, and sandy blond hair exuding affection and familiarity. Unlike the deep blue eyes of the first man, the gentle gaze of the second felt like a refuge, worlds away from the unsettling presence of his companion.

"Maddie," his voice, a low whisper, echoed with recognition and shock. Those eyes, reminiscent of my mother's, offered a comfort that could engulf me entirely. Who were these men?

At the sound of my name, Isabel turned around, breaking the spell I was under. Her eyes were red-rimmed and weary.

"Maddie, you're awake," she said, her voice brimming with tenderness and a hint of apprehension.

"What's going on?" I mumbled, rubbing my eyes as my gaze shifted between Isabel and the two unfamiliar men. "Who are you?"

"Why don't you sit down?" Isabel offered, gesturing to a seat at the table.

Curiosity and confusion mixed within me as I took in my surroundings, noticing the morning light now bathing the room through the kitchen's window. Hours must have slipped away while I slept.

"We don't have time for this," the first man interjected, taking a step closer to me.

Instinctively, I retreated into the doorway away from the approaching stranger. Isabel swiftly positioned herself in front me, shielding me from his imposing presence.

"Isabel," he uttered sharply, a note of impatience in his voice. "Don't be foolish."

"You're not taking her like this, Mason," Isabel's voice was resolute.

As their exchange unfolded, I found myself caught in the grip of confusion and growing apprehension. "Taking me?" I stammered, my words faltering in disbelief.

Mason's eyes snapped to mine, causing my face to drain of colour as unease washed over me. Fear crept through the depths of my being, unravelling the fragile sense of safety I had just managed to grasp.

"What do you mean, taking me?" I repeated, my voice trembling as I struggled to conceal its quiver. I took another step backwards, while desperately scanning the room for escape. Were these the people who were chasing us? But why was Isabel so calm?

"Maddie," the warm-hearted man took a step forward, but Isabel intervened, assuming the role of mediator.

"Elijah, don't," she cautioned him, before turning to me with a gentle grip on my arm. "You're safe with them, Maddie. I promise."

When she was confident her words had quelled my instinct to flee, she turned to the two men, whose reactions couldn't have been more contrasting. Mason appeared unfazed but impatient, while Elijah's eyes radiated genuine concern, tugging at my heartstrings.

"You're scaring her," she said firmly.

Mason paused at that, his gaze shifting from Isabel to me. It felt as though he were dissecting every aspect of my being, scrutinizing every nuance, before arriving at a decision.

"One minute, then we're leaving," Mason finally acquiesced.

With a nod to the friendlier man, the pair left the kitchen, leaving me alone with Isabel.

Once Isabel was certain of the limited privacy afforded to us, she swiftly pulled out the chair and guided me to sit. Placing both hands on my cheeks, she directed my unfocused gaze towards her. Though my mind registered a state of shock, I struggled to grasp the clarity of her words. Amidst murmured apologises, broken phrases about family and Fratelli, she wiped tears from her face and mine. But the memories blurred together, fading into the background, leaving only three distinct sounds etched in my mind.

Mason's urgent shout of "Get down!", the shattering of glass, and the piercing sound of a gunshot.

A deathly silence enveloped the room for a mere instant. In that fraction of time, events unfolded in slow motion, as if I were observing from outside my own body, disconnected from reality.

The initial shock came as I observed the limp body being lifted away from me. Our eyes connected, Isabel's vacant stare piercing mine as she was torn from my side, exposing a harrowing, blood-soaked wound on her head. The realization hit me with a slow and agonizing certainty - Isabel had been shot. A quick glance at the shattered window confirmed that the assault had originated from outside, and now Mason stood there, returning fire with a weapon that eluded my notice beforehand.

After the paralyzing panic had faded, I lunged forward, my shouts filling the air as I shook Isabel's motionless form, desperately hoping for a miracle. I refused to accept another death before my eyes, especially when Isabel represented my last remaining link to my mother.

Time seemed to stretch on as I clung to her, but in reality, it was mere seconds before I felt myself being forcibly pulled away from Isabel's lifeless form. I fought with every ounce of strength left within me, but it was futile. Elijah grasped me firmly by the waist, overpowering my feeble resistance, while my screams blended painfully with the sound of gunshots. The pain in my ribs was only slightly second to my grief for Isabel.

In that chaotic moment, my attention was drawn to a group of about five armed men ascending the stairs, all dressed in suits. My incoherent screams turned to desperately warn Elijah, but he ignored them, instead nodding to one of the first men as if they knew eachother. Without hesitation, that same man took Mason's position, firing back through the shattered window.

"Out the back!" Mason's deep command resounded as he withdrew.

Elijah, still holding me, hastily led the way into a back room I had assumed was the bedroom. We were followed swiftly by Mason and two of the unfamiliar armed men, sealing us off from immediate danger.

From that point on, my recollection became hazy. I vaguely remember my screams for Isabel subsiding, not due to lack of effort but because my voice had simply given out. Descending another flight of stairs and passing through at least two more doors, while the four men exchanged words in urgent tones. I recall being ushered into the backseat of a car, sandwiched between Elijah and one of the unfamiliar men, with Mason and the final armed man seated up front.

The car roared out of an underground garage, and a sudden realization struck me with a wave of desperation—I was being kidnapped.

In the chaos that followed, I remember scrambling over Elijah and frantically clawing at the door and window. The pain in my ribs was slowly becoming more apparent, but it wasn't enough of a deterrent to stop struggling. Elijah forcefully pushed me back into the middle seat, and with the assistance of the man on my other side, they secured me in place with the seatbelt. Through my panicked state, I briefly locked eyes with Mason, a plea for release written in my gaze.

"Calm down, Maddie. You're safe," Elijah muttered in my ear as he finally locked the belt into place.

The finality of the click made me fight harder.

"Let me go!" I cried with the remnants of my voice, slapping Elijah's hands away and kicking hard against Mason's seat like a tantruming child, wincing when the belt dug in against my ribs. But throughout it all, Mason's blue-eyed gaze remained hauntingly composed as he met my eyes through the rear-view mirror.

"If you don't calm down, we'll step in before you hurt yourself," he warned – or promised - with undeniable authority.

Growing more frustrating by his threats, I fought harder. Desperately, I leaned over, digging my fingers into the driver's shoulder and arms, attempting to disrupt his grip on the wheel and force him to pull over.

When one of my frantic hits caused the driver's hand to slip and the car to swerve, Mason reached his breaking point. His gaze met shifted from mine to Elijah, and with a subtle nod exchanged between them, Mason retrieved something from his pocket and tossed it to the man beside me.

My struggle intensified as my eyes fixated on the object he produced. The sight of the syringe filled me with inconsolable dread. Gasping for air between desperate breaths, I pressed back into Elijah, instinctively seeking safety from the imminent threat.

As my cries began to subside, replaced by feeble protests, I struggled to catch my breath. Between gasps, I managed to utter Elijah's name in a breathless plea. Elijah enveloped me with his arm, his touch conveying more restraint than comfort, yet I sought his reassurance, nonetheless.

"Shh, it's to help you relax," he whispered, though his words held little effect as the feeling of suffocation intensified.

I shook my head. "Stop," I pleaded, my voice strained. "I'll be good."

I witnessed Elijah's concerned gaze collide with Mason's at my words. Despite the worry in Elijah's eyes, Mason remained resolute, unwavering. It was clear he couldn't be swayed.

As the man beside me approached with the needle, I renewed my struggle, fighting against his hold while trying to draw a breath.

"Breathe, sweetheart. You're safe," Elijah said, his voice was laced with an attempt to comfort me.

"Tienila ferma," the man with the needle commanded in a distinct Italian accent.

Elijah pushed strands of fallen hair behind my ear, gently turning my face toward his chest and shielding me from the sight of the impending needle.

"Bambina, be still," he murmured softly.

But I didn't listen. When the cold hand rested on my neck, I fought against the inevitable.

"Settle down," Mason's stern voice pierced through from the front seat.

At his command, my body froze, surrendering to the painful sting of the needle penetrating my neck. As the syringe was depressed and withdrawn, I took a slow breath, finally feeling both the air in my lungs and an overwhelming weariness washing over me.

I remember Elijah's chest relaxing as he let out a strained sigh, his grip on me loosening. It took me a few moments to understand why, as my own body relaxed, and a sudden weakness crept into my limbs.

Through heavy and misted eyes, I looked up at Elijah's tormented gaze reflecting the betrayal I felt. His eyes clenched with pain at the sight of me, but he never abandoned me, cradling my head on his shoulder and softly stroking my hair.

"Close your eyes, Bambina," he urged gently. "It's okay."

My gaze drifted to the rear-view mirror, where Mason's eyes remained fixed on mine. I fought against the encroaching sleep, resisting the heaviness weighing on my eyelids.

"Sleep, sorellina," the calm voice from the front coaxed.

That seemed to be all the permission I needed. My eyes betrayed me, and I tumbled into the precipice of sleep, haunted by the realization that these individuals were not kidnappers, but family. Fratelli.

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A/N: We're back! What did you guys think? Did you miss Maddie, Elijah & Mason?

What did you think of Isabel? I know we only met her in this chapter... but I grew to love her so much. She was so gentle with maddie. Did it break your heart reading it as much as it broke mine writing it?

If you feel so inclined, I would love a vote/comment on this chapter to keep those views up!