The night air was thick with tension, the stillness broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of a floorboard inside the Mitchells' home. Alessia sat curled up on her bed, her heart pounding as she stared at the scar on her neck in the dim light of her bedside lamp. It was impossible to shake the feeling that someone was watching her.

She glanced at the window again, but the shadows outside remained still. The figures she thought she had seen earlier were gone—or maybe they had never been there. Her anxiety gnawed at her, twisting every sound and every movement into a threat.

Sleep would not come that night.

Giovanni and his brothers had regrouped at their rented apartment, frustration palpable in the air. The confrontation with the Mitchells had been inconclusive, but Giovanni couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that they were close to uncovering the truth.

"They're lying," he said, pacing the room. His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet like a blade. "You saw the way they reacted. They know something."

"I don't disagree," Alessandro said, leaning against the wall. "But we need to be smart about this. They're already suspicious of us. If we push too hard, they might disappear—and take Alessia with them, if she's really there."

"She's there," Giovanni insisted. "I can feel it."

Sandro spoke up from the corner, where he had been silently reviewing notes from their investigation. "If she is there, they're not going to hand her over willingly. We need leverage. Something that forces them to talk."

Giovanni nodded, though his patience was wearing thin. "Then we find it. We dig into their lives, their connections, everything. Whatever they're hiding, we'll use it to bring Alessia home."

The next morning, Alessia woke to find a folded note on her windowsill. Her breath caught in her throat as she picked it up, her hands trembling. The handwriting was unfamiliar, the words simple but chilling:

You're not alone. We're watching.

Her pulse quickened as she scanned the yard below, but there was no sign of anyone. The note felt like a warning—or a promise. Either way, it was clear that her life was no longer her own.

She shoved the note into her pocket and hurried to get ready for school. If the Mitchells saw it, they would demand answers she didn't have, and their questions would only make things worse.

Alessia kept her head down at school, avoiding eye contact with her classmates as usual. But the boy from the diner—Luca—was there again, sitting at the edge of the cafeteria with a book in his hands.

She hesitated, her heart fluttering. There was something about him that felt safe, though she couldn't explain why. She walked over and sat across from him before she could talk herself out of it.

Luca looked up, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, with a small smile, he closed his book and said, "Hi."

Alessia nodded, her hands fidgeting with the strap of her backpack. She couldn't bring herself to speak, but Luca didn't seem to mind.

"Do you like to read?" he asked, gesturing to his book.

Alessia nodded again, her lips curving into a faint smile. It was the first time in a long while that someone had talked to her without looking at her like she was broken.

Luca didn't press her for answers, and she was grateful for that. Instead, he talked about his favourite books and the places he wanted to visit someday. For a brief moment, Alessia felt like she could breathe.

Meanwhile, Giovanni and Alessandro were following a lead. They had discovered that the Mitchells had purchased the house under a false name—a detail that immediately raised red flags.

"They're hiding something," Alessandro said as they sifted through the paperwork in their rented apartment. "The question is what."

Giovanni's phone buzzed, and he answered it without hesitation. It was Sandro, who had been keeping watch near the Mitchells' house.

"You're going to want to hear this," Sandro said. "I just saw a girl leaving the house. She looks about the right age. And Giovanni... she doesn't look like them."

Giovanni's grip tightened on the phone. "Did you get a good look at her?"

"Not much," Sandro admitted. "She's quiet, keeps her head down. But there's something about her. I think it's her."

Giovanni's heart raced. "Follow her. But keep your distance. If it's Alessia, we can't scare her off."

Sandro's instincts proved correct. Over the next few days, he observed the girl as she went about her routine. She was timid, withdrawn, and seemed to avoid any interaction that wasn't absolutely necessary. But there was a strength in her, a quiet resilience that reminded Sandro of his sister.

He reported back to Giovanni and Alessandro, and they formulated a plan together. It was risky, but they had no other choice.

They would approach Alessia directly.

That evening, Alessia was walking home from school when she noticed a car following her at a distance. Her anxiety spiked, and she quickened her pace, clutching her backpack tightly.

The car pulled over a few feet ahead of her, and a man stepped out. He was tall and well-dressed, his dark hair slicked back. Something about him seemed familiar and unfamiliar, and it sent a chill down her spine.

"Alessia," the man said, his voice soft but firm.

She froze, her breath hitching. How did he know her name?

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. "My name is Giovanni. I think... I think I'm your brother."

Her world tilted, the ground beneath her feet feeling unsteady. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't move.

Giovanni took a cautious step closer. "Please, Alessia. I've been looking for you for so long. I just want to talk."

Her vision blurred with tears as a flood of emotions overwhelmed her—fear, confusion, and something she couldn't quite name. Could he be telling the truth? Could this man really be her brother?

She didn't know whether to trust him or to run. But deep down, something about him felt right.

The scar on her neck throbbed as if it, too, remembered the name De Luca.