The air was heavy with tension as Alessia froze on the sidewalk, staring at Giovanni. The words he had just spoken replayed in her mind, disorienting and unreal.

"I think I'm your brother."

She felt as if the world had tilted on its axis. The man standing before her had the same intense eyes she saw in the mirror—a shade of hazel that seemed to shift with the light. But he was a stranger. How could she trust him?

Her hands trembled as she clutched the straps of her backpack tighter, taking a small step backwards. "I... I don't know you," she whispered, the sound barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

Giovanni's expression softened. "Alessia, I know this is overwhelming. But please—just give me a chance to explain. I'm your brother. I've been looking for you for years."

Brother. The word felt foreign to her as if it belonged to another life. Memories flickered at the edges of her mind: laughter, warmth, a sense of safety. But they were faint, overshadowed by the harsh reality she had lived with the Mitchells.

"I'm not who you think I am," Alessia said, her voice shaking. "You've made a mistake."

Giovanni stepped closer, his movements careful, as though approaching a frightened animal. "I haven't made a mistake," he said gently. "You're Alessia De Luca. You were taken from us when you were just a baby."

Her head spun. It wasn't possible. Her name was Alessia Mitchell—wasn't it? The Mitchells were her parents, even if they had never truly treated her like a daughter.

Before she could respond, the sound of screeching tyres shattered the moment. Alessia turned to see a black SUV pulling up to the curb. Her stomach dropped as Mr and Mrs Mitchell stepped out, their faces a mixture of anger and cold calculation.

"Alessia!" Mrs. Mitchell called sharply, her voice like a whip. "What are you doing? Get away from him!"

Giovanni's face darkened as he turned to face the Mitchells. His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you doing with my sister?"

Mrs. Mitchell's expression hardened as she stepped closer, her hand gripping Alessia's arm possessively. "We're her parents," she said coolly. "And you have no business talking to her."

Giovanni's eyes narrowed. "Parents? Don't make me laugh. Alessia isn't your daughter. You stole her."

Mr. Mitchell moved to stand beside his wife, his imposing figure radiating menace. "You'd better back off," he growled. "I don't know who you think you are, but Alessia doesn't need you filling her head with lies."

Giovanni took a step forward, his voice rising. "I'm her brother. And I'm not leaving without her."

The tension between the two men crackled in the air like a live wire. Alessia felt paralyzed, caught in the middle of a battle she didn't understand. Her gaze darted between Giovanni and the Mitchells, her mind racing.

"Alessia, get in the car," Mrs. Mitchell ordered, her nails digging into Alessia's arm. "Now."

Giovanni's voice softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. "Alessia, you don't have to go with them. You're not safe with them. Please, just listen to me."

Her heart pounded as she looked between the two opposing forces. The Mitchells were the only family she had ever known, but Giovanni's words stirred something deep within her—a longing she couldn't explain.

"I..." Alessia's voice faltered. The pressure was too much. She yanked her arm free from Mrs Mitchell's grasp and stumbled backwards.

"I need time," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, she turned and ran, her legs carrying her as far away as they could.

Alessia didn't stop running until her lungs burned and her legs felt like lead. She collapsed onto a bench in the park, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The world around her blurred her thoughts a chaotic mess.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded note she had found on her windowsill. You're not alone. We're watching. The words sent a shiver down her spine. Who had written it? Giovanni? The Mitchells? Someone else entirely?

Her anxiety surged, a tidal wave that threatened to drown her. She hugged her knees to her chest, her body trembling. She felt like a pawn in a game she didn't understand, and the weight of it was suffocating.

A soft voice broke through her spiralling thoughts. "Alessia?"

She looked up to see Luca standing a few feet away, concern etched on his face. He wore a hoodie and jeans, his hands tucked into his pockets. His presence was a stark contrast to the chaos swirling inside her.

"I saw you running," he said gently, taking a cautious step closer. "Are you okay?"

She shook her head, unable to find the words. The tears she had been holding back spilt over, and she buried her face in her hands.

Luca hesitated momentarily before sitting beside her, leaving enough space to respect her boundaries. "You don't have to talk," he said softly. "But if you need someone to sit with you, I'm here."

Alessia peeked at him through her fingers, her chest tightening. He wasn't prying or pressuring her. He was just... there. And for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel completely alone.

Back at the apartment, Giovanni paced the floor like a caged animal. Alessandro and Sandro watched him in silence, their expressions grim.

"She's scared," Giovanni said, his voice filled with frustration. "They've poisoned her against us. She doesn't even know who she is."

"Then we show her," Alessandro said firmly. "But we have to be careful. If we push too hard, she'll run—and we might not get another chance."

Giovanni's hands clenched into fists. "I can't lose her again, Ale. I won't."

Sandro leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. "The Mitchells are the key. They won't let her go without a fight."

Giovanni's gaze hardened, his voice low and dangerous. "Then we give them a fight. Whatever it takes, we're bringing her home."