Alessia had never known true freedom, but she began to sense that there was more to her existence than what the Mitchells allowed. The nagging feeling that something was wrong, something far beyond her foster parents' neglect and emotional indifference, was growing stronger by the day.

Her mind raced with questions she couldn't answer. What was she missing? Why did she feel like she belonged somewhere else? Why did every memory—no matter how fragmented—pull her toward that mysterious place in her dreams, that grand estate in the distance, shrouded in mist?

And then, the phone call. It haunted her like a whisper in the dark, a secret she wasn't ready to hear but couldn't forget. The voice on the other end had been calm, but the urgency in its words had settled in her bones.

"We're coming for you."

She couldn't ignore it any longer. Something was pulling her, drawing her to the truth. But the question remained: what was the truth?

Meanwhile, Giovanni prepared for a journey that could change everything in Italy. The Mitchells were the key, or so their informant suggested. But Giovanni had to be careful. He knew the risks involved in venturing into a foreign country, especially one where the family had little influence. The De Luca name held power in Italy, but it was just another name in a long list of potential threats overseas.

"Giovanni," Alessandro said one evening, "are you sure about this? We don't know what we're walking into. The Mitchells may be completely innocent. We might be chasing shadows."

Giovanni stared out the window, his fingers tapping the edge of the table, lost in thought. He had to follow this lead. He had to.

"I know it doesn't make sense," Giovanni replied, his voice distant, "but something about it feels right. They have to know something about Alessia. I can feel it. It's not just a coincidence. I need to know if there's even a chance that she's still out there."

"Then we'll go with you," Alessandro said, his face softening. "We'll make sure nothing goes wrong. But you're not doing this alone."

Giovanni nodded, grateful for his brother's support. "I won't be alone. We'll find her together."

Days later, Giovanni, Alessandro, and Sandro arrived in America. The landscape was vastly different from Italy—the streets busier, the air heavier with the constant hum of the city. But Giovanni's focus was singular: the Mitchells. They had to find them, and quickly.

The De Luca brothers had no trouble locating the Mitchells' home. It wasn't much—just a small, modest house tucked in a quiet neighbourhood—but it was enough. They'd been living in relative isolation, and that made them the perfect targets for someone who wanted to keep secrets.

The brothers sat in their car outside the Mitchells' house, watching the front door from across the street.

"How do we even approach them?" Sandro asked, breaking the silence. His eyes never left the house. "They don't know who we are. And we don't know how deep their involvement in this goes."

"We'll start by learning everything we can about them," Giovanni said, his voice steady. "We'll find out if there's any connection to the people who took Alessia. If they've been hiding her all these years, we'll make them tell us why."

Alessandro raised an eyebrow. "You're assuming they're involved. We have no proof of that."

"We don't need proof yet," Giovanni replied, his voice hardening. "We have instincts. And mine are telling me this is where we start."

Back in Alessia's small town, life had become increasingly unbearable. Her foster parents had never been cruel, at least not in the traditional sense. But their neglect, their emotional distance, and their constant disinterest in her had suffocated any possibility of happiness.

At school, she was an outcast. Though she was quiet and kept to herself, something about her presence made people uneasy. Her classmates avoided her, and she often found herself outside of every conversation. But it was the other students' fear of her silence that stung the most. No one ever took the time to get to know her; she had long ago resigned herself to being invisible.

But the encounter with the boy at the counter in the diner had changed something in her. She couldn't explain it—he hadn't said a word to her—but his gaze had made her feel seen for the first time in years. She found herself thinking about him constantly, wondering if he, too, had noticed the strange connection between them.

When he glanced at her with those curious eyes, it felt like a bridge had formed between them, reaching across the vast, silent chasm of her life.

The more she thought about him, the more something stirred within her—a faint, fleeting memory.

She had been so consumed with the fear of the past, the nightmares, the silence, that she hadn't realized she was beginning to feel something else: hope.

But that hope was fragile. She wasn't sure who she could trust. After the phone call and the strange man in the park, she felt like she was being pulled in every direction at once.

One afternoon, Alessia stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. The face that stared back at her was unfamiliar—an image of someone caught between two worlds, one she didn't understand and one she couldn't escape.

As her fingers brushed the edges of her hair, something unusual happened. She caught a glimpse of the faintest scar along her neck, hidden beneath her collar. The sight of it sent a chill down her spine as if it were a physical manifestation of a memory she had locked away for too long.

Alessia's breath quickened as she traced the scar with trembling fingers. The sensation felt oddly comforting, like a key unlocking a door to a past she had forgotten.

The scar didn't belong to her life with the Mitchells. It belonged to someone else—someone she was meant to be.

Her heart raced as fragments of memories she couldn't fully grasp began to resurface. A woman's voice calling her name. The smell of fresh flowers in the air. A man's laughter echoed in a grand hall.

And the name she had almost forgotten.

"Alessia De Luca."

The De Luca brothers watched from a distance at the Mitchells' house. Their surveillance had given them valuable information: the Mitchells were nothing more than a small, inconspicuous family with no obvious connections to the underworld. But there was something more—something hidden beneath the surface.

Giovanni's instincts screamed that they were closer to the truth than ever. Everything was pointing to the Mitchells. Everything was pointing to Alessia.

The pieces were finally starting to fall into place.