Isabella's POV

The faint hum of voices drifted up the grand staircase, reaching me even as I sat in the solitude of my sitting room. I clutched the rosary in my hands, the beads slipping through my fingers as I whispered another prayer. My lips moved, but my heart wavered. Prayers had failed me once before, when they'd taken her.

Serafina.

The name was both a blessing and a curse on my tongue. My little girl, my only daughter, lost to the darkness for so long. And now, after all these years, she was back.

But what had they done to her?

I hadn't yet seen her, though the boys had tried to convince me it was best to wait. She needs time, Mamma, Dante had said. She's been through enough.

I knew they meant well, but the ache in my chest only grew. I'd spent years imagining the moment she would return, dreaming of holding her, of stroking her hair like I used to when she was small. Now she was here, just a flight of stairs away, and I couldn't bring myself to move.

A knock at the door startled me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I called, my voice steadier than I felt.

The door opened, and Luca stepped inside, his usual confidence muted. "Mamma," he said softly, "she's resting now. Enzo's with her."

I nodded, my fingers tightening around the rosary. "How is she?"

Luca hesitated, a rare flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "She's... fragile. She's scared, Mamma. She wouldn't even come inside the house without hiding behind Enzo."

My heart broke a little more. "And her face?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Luca's jaw tightened. "Bruised. She flinched when Matteo got too close." He paused, as if debating whether to say more. "It's clear... she's been hurt. Badly."

The air left my lungs, and I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady myself. My baby girl, the light of my life, had endured unspeakable pain, and I hadn't been there to protect her.

"I need to see her," I said, standing abruptly.

"Mamma—"

"No," I interrupted, my voice firm. "She's my daughter, Luca. I need to see her."

Luca didn't argue further. He simply nodded and stepped aside as I made my way toward the door.

As I reached the staircase, Alessandro appeared at the base of it, his presence commanding even in the quiet. He'd been out all day, chasing down leads, no doubt preparing to unleash his wrath on whoever had done this to our daughter.

"Isabella," he said, his voice rough with emotion.

"She's home," I said, my voice trembling.

Alessandro's expression hardened, though his eyes betrayed the storm brewing within him. "She's upstairs?"

I nodded, gripping the banister tightly. "I'm going to her now."

"I'll come with you."

"No." My response was immediate, surprising even myself. "Not yet. Let me see her first."

Alessandro's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. He stepped aside, his broad shoulders tense as he watched me ascend the stairs.

When I reached her room, I paused, my hand hovering over the door. For a moment, I was paralyzed by fear—fear of what I might see, fear of how she might look at me.

Gathering my courage, I knocked softly.

There was no response.

I opened the door slowly, peeking inside. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the figure curled up on the floor in the corner. My heart shattered at the sight.

"Serafina," I whispered, stepping inside.

Her head lifted, her eyes wide and filled with fear. She pressed herself further into the corner, her body trembling.

"Oh, my sweet girl," I said, my voice breaking.

I stopped a few feet away, not wanting to startle her further. My hands itched to reach out, to hold her, but I forced myself to stay still.

"It's me," I said softly. "It's Mamma."

Her gaze flickered, a hint of recognition crossing her face, but it was quickly replaced by uncertainty.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I sank to the floor, keeping my movements slow and gentle. "I'm here now," I said. "You're safe, my darling. No one will ever hurt you again."

She didn't respond, but her breathing slowed slightly. I took it as a small victory.

"I love you," I whispered. "I've never stopped loving you."

For a long moment, she just stared at me, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, hesitantly, she whispered, "Mamma?"

The single word broke me completely.

"Yes," I said, my voice trembling. "It's me, my love. I'm here."

She didn't move toward me, but the fear in her eyes began to fade, replaced by something else—something fragile and uncertain.

Hope.

It was a start.

When I finally left her room, Alessandro was waiting in the hallway, his fists clenched and his eyes dark.

"How is she?" he demanded.

I wiped my tears, my voice steady despite the pain. "She's broken, Alessandro. But she's still our Serafina. And we're going to help her heal."

Alessandro nodded, his jaw tightening. "And the men who did this to her?"

"They'll pay," I said, my voice hardening. "Every single one of them."

His eyes burned with fury as he turned and stalked down the hall, already planning their destruction.

I stayed where I was, my hand pressed to my heart, silently praying for the strength to help my daughter find her way back to herself.