The phone call haunted Alessia. Her fingers trembled when she picked up the receiver and dialled the number back, but after a few rings, the line clicked dead. There was nothing but silence, an unnerving stillness that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Who had called her? What did they mean by "We're coming for you"?

She replayed the conversation in her mind for days, trying to make sense of it. The voice was deep, older—male. There was an authority to it, which commanded respect but wasn't threatening. It was... reassuring, in a way. And that was what terrified her the most. Who would know her name like that? And why did she feel like the words were a promise, not a threat?

As much as Alessia wanted to dismiss it, the unease gnawed at her. The nightmares that had plagued her for so many years grew worse, and her sleep was filled with vivid, terrifying images. The same man who had watched her at the park—his face, those cold, dark eyes—began appearing in her dreams.

But there was something new: images of a large, looming estate, a grand house surrounded by vineyards, a place that felt oddly familiar. She couldn't place it but felt like she belonged there. Her mind was trying to tell her something, but she couldn't piece it all together no matter how hard she tried.

In Italy, the De Luca family's search for Alessia reached a boiling point. Antonio was no longer the man he had once been. The once imposing figure of the family patriarch now seemed hollow, his face drawn with the weight of years spent searching for his youngest daughter. The deep-set wrinkles on his brow and the grey streaks in his hair were constant reminders of her absence's toll on him.

Giovanni had become the family's rock. He carried the burden of responsibility for Alessia's disappearance, the failure of his promises, and the pain of watching their father grow weaker with each passing year. The search had become a part of his soul, and the feeling that Alessia was still alive kept him moving forward despite the overwhelming odds.

He couldn't explain it, but he felt her. He felt she was out there, waiting to be found.

"Giovanni," Alessandro's voice was low, a touch of concern in his tone. "You've been working on this for years. We can't keep doing this. We need a break. We need to focus on the business. The family's empire is crumbling."

Giovanni didn't answer immediately. He stared at the map in front of him—hundreds of pins marking the locations of people who might know something, every lead, every dead end.

"I can't stop," Giovanni said, his voice hoarse. "I have to find her. I owe it to her. To all of us."

But Alessandro was right. The family's influence had started to weaken. Their enemies were closing in, their once-solid grip on the underworld slipping. Business dealings had become harder to navigate. The De Luca family wasn't just facing the loss of a daughter—they were facing the collapse of everything Antonio had built.

Sandro had been quieter than usual, often found staring out the windows of their villa, lost in thought. Though always analytical, his mind had become consumed by the same question: how could they find Alessia when there was no sign of her?

The answer always eluded them.

But then, one evening, there was a breakthrough.

Giovanni received an encrypted message from one of their most trusted informants. The message was cryptic, but the name it contained—a name that had been buried for years—shocked Giovanni to his core.

"Mitchell," the message read. "She's with them. In America. Find them."

It was the first real lead they had gotten in years. The Mitchells—Alessia's so-called adoptive parents.

Giovanni's hands trembled as he read the message again. He knew the Mitchells—an unassuming couple from the outskirts of a small American town. But what had they to do with Alessia? How could they possibly be involved in her disappearance?

"Alessandro," Giovanni said quietly, "I need you to make some calls. We're going to America."

In the weeks that followed, Giovanni and his brothers worked in the shadows, gathering information and making arrangements. The truth about the Mitchells remained elusive, but one thing was clear—Alessia was still out there. They had to find her before it was too late.

Back in America, Alessia had no idea what was coming. She was still reeling from the strange phone call and the eerie sense that someone was watching her. Though monotonous and solitary, her life was beginning to feel like it was slipping out of her control. Every time she stepped out of her house, the world seemed to close in on her. Her own memories were beginning to come back, slowly, in fragments.

But the more she remembered, the more the fear took root.

She had to escape.

Alessia had never known true freedom.