Alessia's feet moved instinctively, carrying her farther and farther from the turmoil she had left behind. By the time she stopped, she realized she was back near the park where she often escaped to when the Mitchells' house became unbearable. The cool air bit at her cheeks and the faint hum of distant traffic provided a backdrop to the silence of her thoughts.

She sat on the same bench where Luca had found her, her knees drawn to her chest as if to shield herself from the world. The echo of Giovanni's words—"You're Alessia De Luca. You were taken from us when you were just a baby."—lingered in her mind, clashing with years of conditioning from the Mitchells.

Who was she? The question gnawed at her, relentless and inescapable. Her memories felt fragmented, pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together. All she knew for certain was the fear she had carried for as long as she could remember—the fear that had silenced her voice and buried her courage.

At the De Luca Apartment

Back at their rented apartment, Giovanni sat at the table, his hands clenched into fists as Alessandro and Sandro poured over documents spread across the table. Old police reports, photographs, and scribbled notes painted a picture of years of searching.

"We need to approach this carefully," Alessandro said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "The Mitchells clearly know something. They've kept her isolated for a reason."

Giovanni's jaw tightened. "You saw how they treated her. That woman grabbed her like she owned her. They're hiding something, and I swear I'll—"

"Gio," Sandro interrupted, his tone firm but understanding. "We all want the same thing. But if we rush this, we could scare her off—or worse, put her in more danger."

Giovanni exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "She's my sister," he said quietly, the vulnerability in his voice breaking through his anger. "I promised myself I'd find her. And now that I have, I can't lose her again."

Alessandro placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We'll bring her home," he said with quiet conviction. "But we have to be smart about it."

Sandro leaned forward, his expression grim. "What about the Mitchells? If they've been keeping her captive, they won't let her go without a fight."

Giovanni's gaze darkened. "Then we'll fight. Whatever it takes, we'll protect her."

The Mitchells' House

Inside the Mitchells' home, the atmosphere was tense. Mrs. Mitchell paced the living room, her expression icy as Mr. Mitchell sat in his armchair, his fingers tapping against the armrest.

"That man," Mrs. Mitchell hissed, her voice filled with venom. "Who does he think he is, coming here and filling her head with lies?"

Mr. Mitchell's face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed his unease. "If he knows who she is, we have a problem."

Mrs. Mitchell stopped pacing and turned to face her husband. "We've kept her hidden all these years. She's ours. I won't let some stranger ruin everything."

"She's not ours," Mr. Mitchell snapped, his voice low but sharp. "And if the De Lucas find out the truth, we'll lose more than just her."

A flicker of fear crossed Mrs. Mitchell's face, but she quickly masked it with anger. "Then we make sure they don't find out."

The Next Day

Alessia woke to the sound of birds chirping outside her window. Her body ached from the tension of the previous day, and her mind felt clouded as if she were moving through a fog. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of her confusion pressing down on her.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping her out of her daze. She reached for it, her heart skipping a beat when she saw a message from Luca.

Luca: Hey. Just wanted to check on you. You seemed upset last night. If you need to talk, I'm here.

Alessia hesitated before typing a reply.

Alessia: Thanks. I'm okay. Just a lot on my mind.

The response felt inadequate, but she didn't know how to explain the chaos inside her. She set the phone down and got out of bed, her movements slow and deliberate. She had school today, and despite everything, she knew she needed the distraction.

At School

The hallways of the school were bustling with activity as students chatted and laughed, their voices a stark contrast to Alessia's quiet world. She walked to her locker with her head down, avoiding eye contact. The weight of her anxiety pressed on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Alessia!"

She turned to see Luca jogging toward her, his easy smile a balm to her frayed nerves.

"Hey," he said, falling into step beside her. "I was hoping I'd see you. How are you feeling?"

Alessia gave a small shrug, unsure of how to answer. "I'm... fine," she said softly.

Luca studied her for a moment before nodding. "Well, if you ever need to talk, you know where to find me."

His kindness was disarming, and for a brief moment, Alessia felt a flicker of warmth. She nodded, offering him a small, tentative smile before turning back to her locker.

Giovanni's Next Move

Meanwhile, Giovanni sat in the driver's seat of a rented car, parked across the street from the Mitchells' house. He had spent the morning watching the house, his mind racing as he tried to piece together a plan.

He pulled out his phone and dialled Alessandro.

"They're not normal foster parents," Giovanni said, his voice low. "I've been watching them. The way they act—it's off. Cold, calculated."

"What are you thinking?" Alessandro asked on the other end of the line.

Giovanni's gaze hardened as he stared at the house. "I'm thinking it's time to dig deeper. If they've been hiding Alessia all these years, there's a reason. And I'm going to find out what it is."

Alessia's Breaking Point

Later that evening, Alessia sat in her room, the past few days' events weighing heavily on her. The nightmares that had haunted her for years felt closer than ever, their shadows creeping into her waking hours.

Her gaze fell on the note she had found on her windowsill: You're not alone. We're watching.

Who had written it? Giovanni? The Mitchells? Someone else entirely? The uncertainty gnawed at her, feeding her anxiety until it felt unbearable.

She curled up on her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest as tears streamed down her face. The walls of her room felt like they were closing in, suffocating her.

For the first time, she allowed herself to wonder: What if Giovanni was telling the truth? What if I really wasn't Alessia Mitchell?

The thought was both terrifying and strangely liberating. If she wasn't who the Mitchells said she was, then maybe—just maybe—there was a chance for something more. Something better.