The journey back to the De Luca apartment was quiet, punctuated only by the car's tyres against the asphalt. Alessia sat in the back seat, clutching her backpack as though it were a lifeline. Her mind raced, each passing moment bringing more questions than answers. Giovanni and Alessandro exchanged occasional glances, their expressions a mix of relief and determination.

When they reached the apartment, Sandro was waiting at the door, his phone in hand. He glanced at Alessia, his gaze softening as he took in her frail frame and the haunted look in her eyes.

"Alessia," he said gently. "You're safe now."

She hesitated before stepping inside, her body tense and her movements guarded. The apartment was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold, sterile environment of the Mitchells' home. Framed photographs lined the walls, capturing moments of laughter and joy among the De Luca brothers. Alessia's gaze lingered on one photo—a group picture of the brothers as children, standing outside a rustic Italian villa.

"Do you remember it?" Giovanni asked, his voice tentative.

Alessia shook her head, her throat tightening. "No," she whispered.

Giovanni's shoulders sagged slightly, but he forced a smile. "That's okay. We'll help you remember."

Sandro showed Alessia to a small bedroom at the end of the hall. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the bed was covered in a quilt that looked handmade. Alessia sat on the edge of the mattress, her hands clutching the fabric.

"This is your room now," Sandro said, leaning against the doorframe. "You can take as much time as you need to adjust. We're not going anywhere."

Alessia nodded, her eyes fixed on the floor. The weight of the day's events pressed down on her, and exhaustion began to creep in.

"I'll leave you to rest," Sandro said, stepping back. "But if you need anything, just call out."

Alessia's lips parted as though she wanted to respond, but no words came. She simply nodded again, and Sandro closed the door softly behind him.

That night, Alessia's dreams were plagued by shadows. She saw the Mitchells' faces twisting with anger, their voices echoing in her mind. She woke with a start, her chest heaving and her body drenched in sweat. The darkness of the unfamiliar room pressed in on her, and for a moment, she felt the suffocating grip of panic.

A faint knock at the door startled her. "Alessia?" Giovanni's voice was soft. "I heard you moving around. Are you okay?"

She didn't respond, but Giovanni opened the door a crack, peering inside. His expression softened when he saw her sitting up in bed, her knees drawn to her chest.

"Bad dream?" he asked gently.

Alessia nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Giovanni stepped inside and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping his distance. "I used to get those too," he admitted. "After we lost you. I'd dream that I found you, only to lose you again."

Alessia looked at him, her eyes filled with confusion and sadness.

"But you're here now," he said, his voice steady. "And I promise, we won't let anything happen to you."

In the living room, Alessandro and Sandro were deep in conversation.

"She's broken," Alessandro said, his voice heavy. "You saw the way she flinched when we walked through the door. She doesn't trust us."

"It's going to take time," Sandro replied. "She's been through hell. We can't expect her to just snap out of it."

"And what about the Mitchells?" Alessandro asked. "They won't give up easily. If they're connected to trafficking, they'll have people looking for her."

Sandro leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. "We'll deal with them. But our priority is Alessia. She needs to know she's safe here."

Alessandro nodded, though the tension in his jaw didn't ease. "I just hope she can heal."

The next morning, Alessia woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of low voices. She ventured into the kitchen, where Giovanni was cooking breakfast, and Alessandro was reading the newspaper.

"Morning," Giovanni said with a smile. "How do you like your eggs?"

Alessia hesitated, unsure how to respond.

"Scrambled it is," Giovanni said, not waiting for an answer. He placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of her. "Eat up. You've had a rough couple of days."

Alessia stared at the food, her appetite nonexistent. But she forced herself to bite, knowing they were watching her closely.

Alessandro lowered his newspaper and studied her. "We were thinking of taking you to the park later," he said. "Get some fresh air."

Alessia glanced at him, then quickly looked away. The idea of going outside both excited and terrified her. She hadn't felt free in years, and the thought of open spaces was overwhelming.

"Only if you're up for it," Giovanni added quickly. "No pressure."

Alessia nodded slowly, and Giovanni smiled. "Great. You'll love it."

The park was bustling with activity—children playing, couples strolling hand in hand, and dogs chasing after frisbees. Alessia clung to Giovanni's side, her eyes darting nervously at every sound and movement.

"It's okay," Giovanni said softly. "You're safe."

They found a quiet bench near a pond, and Alessia sat down, her shoulders tense. Giovanni and Alessandro gave her space, letting her observe her surroundings without pressure.

After a while, a little boy ran past, laughing as he chased a balloon. Alessia's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. Giovanni noticed and felt a surge of hope.

"It's nice, isn't it?" he said. "Being outside."

Alessia nodded, her body relaxing slightly.

That evening, back at the apartment, Alessia picked up one of the photographs on the wall. It was a picture of Giovanni, Alessandro, and Sandro as teenagers, standing in front of a sports car.

"You were close," she said softly, her voice barely audible.

Giovanni turned to her, surprised but pleased to hear her speak. "Yeah. We've always had each other's backs."

Alessia's eyes lingered on the photo. "I... don't remember."

Giovanni stepped closer, his voice gentle. "That's okay. You don't have to. We'll make new memories."

For the first time, Alessia felt a flicker of something she hadn't experienced in years: hope.