The quiet hum of the Mitchells' house betrayed the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. Inside, the couple carried on with their mundane routines—small-town ordinary on the outside but harbouring secrets Alessia had begun to feel in her bones. They rarely spoke to her unless it was to issue orders, and the dismissive tone they used cut deeper with every passing day.

Alessia sat in her room, a book in her lap, but her mind was far from its pages. She kept replaying the fragments of memories that had surfaced—the smell of flowers, the sound of laughter, the warmth of a home she couldn't quite remember. It was as though the shadows of her past were calling to her, whispering truths she wasn't ready to face.

But the scar on her neck—it had shaken her. She couldn't recall how she got it, and that terrified her. Did it belong to the life she had before the Mitchells? And if it did, what had happened to her?

She wanted answers, but the more she searched her mind, the more questions arose.

Outside the Mitchells' house, the De Luca brothers maintained their watch, careful to remain unseen. Giovanni had never felt such a mix of hope and dread. He was so close to finding Alessia, but every second that passed without answers gnawed at him. What if they were too late? What if the Mitchells had hurt her or, worse, killed her?

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to focus. There was no room for doubt now.

"What's the plan, Giovanni?" Alessandro asked, breaking the tense silence. "We can't just sit here forever. We've been watching them for days, and they're as ordinary as they come."

Giovanni shook his head. "They're hiding something. I know it. I don't care how normal they look—they're connected to this. I can feel it."

Sandro, sitting in the backseat, leaned forward. "And what if they're not? What if they don't know anything? What if we're wrong?"

Giovanni's jaw tightened. "Then we keep looking. We don't stop until we find her."

"Giovanni," Alessandro said gently, "what if we already have?"

The words hit Giovanni like a thunderbolt. Could it be possible? Could Alessia already be here, just beyond their reach, living under the Mitchells' roof? The thought sent a chill down his spine. If she was here, why hadn't they seen her?

Alessia's days had begun to blur together, each more suffocating than the last. She avoided the Mitchells as much as possible, retreating to her room whenever she could. Her anxiety had become an ever-present companion, tightening its grip on her chest until breathing felt like a chore.

The nightmares had returned with a vengeance. She dreamed of cold, dark corridors, faceless figures reaching out to her, and voices calling her name in desperation. But there was one constant in her dreams—a man's voice, deep and commanding, filled with a mix of sorrow and anger.

"Alessia."

She woke with a start each time, her heart racing and her sheets damp with sweat. The voice in her dreams felt real, too real. And the worst part? It felt familiar.

Her life felt like a puzzle with too many missing pieces. And the more she tried to put it together, the more she felt like she was losing herself.

The De Luca brothers decided to make their move. They had gathered enough information to confront the Mitchells, and their patience had worn thin. It was time for answers.

The plan was simple: approach the Mitchells directly, posing as concerned parties looking for a missing person. They would gauge their reactions, look for any signs of guilt, and determine whether Alessia was inside the house.

As they approached the Mitchells' front door, Giovanni's heart pounded. This was it. This could be the moment he had waited for all these years. But as the door opened, and the face of an unassuming middle-aged woman appeared, his confidence wavered.

"Yes?" the woman asked, her tone wary. "Can I help you?"

Giovanni forced a smile. "Good evening, ma'am. My name is Giovanni De Luca. My brothers and I are looking for someone—a young woman who's been missing for many years. We have reason to believe she might be connected to this address."

The woman's face didn't betray much, but something flickered in her eyes—fear? Recognition? Giovanni couldn't tell.

"I'm sorry," the woman said quickly. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's no one like that here."

Before Giovanni could press further, a man appeared behind her, his expression tense. "Who are you people? What do you want?"

Giovanni held his ground, his tone firm but polite. "We're not here to cause trouble. We're just looking for answers. This girl, Alessia, has been missing for over a decade. We believe she might be here. If you know anything—"

"I said we don't know anything," the man interrupted, his voice rising. "Now, get off our property before I call the police."

Alessandro stepped forward, his voice calm but edged with warning. "We're not leaving until we get some answers."

The man glared at them, his fists clenching. "You've got five seconds to leave."

Giovanni held up a hand, signalling his brothers to stand down. "We'll go," he said, his voice low. "But this isn't over."

As they walked away, Giovanni's mind raced. The Mitchells were hiding something—he was certain of it. But getting to the truth would require a different approach.

That night, Alessia's nightmares returned. But this time, they were different. The faceless figures in her dreams had taken on more shape, their voices clearer. And among them was the voice of the man she had heard on the phone.

"We're coming for you."

She woke with a gasp, her hands clutching the scar on her neck. The dream had felt so real, as though the voice was speaking directly to her.

Suddenly, she heard something outside her window. Footsteps. Whispering.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she crept toward the window and peered out. In the darkness, she saw three figures standing near the edge of the property, their faces hidden in shadow.

Fear gripped her. Who were they? And why did they feel like they were looking for her?