Isabella's POV

I stood in the hallway outside Serafina's room, my hand resting against the cool wood of the doorframe. It had been hours since she arrived home, but the weight of her return hadn't eased the ache in my chest. My little girl was home, yet she felt farther away than ever.

I could hear her soft sobs through the door, and my heart splintered with every sound. I had always imagined this moment differently—the day we'd find her. I thought I'd embrace her, kiss her face a thousand times, and tell her how much I loved her. But the reality was stark, cruel. She flinched at every touch, shrank from every word.

I leaned my head against the wall, my eyes closing as the tears spilled over. Alessandro had retreated to his study hours ago, consumed with plans for vengeance. His anger burned hotter than mine, but I understood it. He needed to feel like he was doing something, like he could fix this.

But there was no fixing this.

The door creaked open behind me, and I quickly wiped my eyes, turning to see Enzo stepping out. His face was solemn, his usual sharp, confident expression softened by something I hadn't seen in years—pain.

"How is she?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"She's... fragile," he said, running a hand through his hair. "She had a nightmare. I stayed with her until she fell asleep again."

"Did she talk to you?"

"Not much," he admitted, leaning against the wall beside me. "She asked me to hold her. She cried herself to sleep in my arms."

The image sent a fresh wave of tears to my eyes, and I bit my lip to keep from breaking down. "She's so different," I whispered. "My little girl... she's gone."

Enzo shook his head, his jaw tightening. "She's still in there, Mamma. She just needs time. We have to give her that."

Time. The word felt like a curse. We had lost fifteen years to time, and now it demanded more from us. But what else could we do?

I reached out, placing a hand on Enzo's cheek. He looked so much like Alessandro—strong, determined. But there was a softness in him that reminded me of Serafina when she was little, the way she used to cling to him as if he were her whole world.

"You're a good brother," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered with emotion, but he didn't respond. Instead, he nodded and turned away, heading down the hall.

I waited a moment before stepping into Serafina's room. The air inside was heavy, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. She was curled up under the blankets, her face half-buried in the pillow.

I crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake her. For a moment, I just watched her, taking in every detail of her face. The bruises, the cuts, the hollowness in her cheeks—they all told a story I wasn't ready to hear.

"I'm sorry, tesoro," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry I couldn't find you sooner."

Her face twitched, a small whimper escaping her lips. I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead.

"You're safe now," I said, more to myself than to her. "No one will ever hurt you again."

As I sat there, I felt the weight of her pain settle over me like a shroud. I couldn't take it from her, couldn't undo what had been done. But I would do everything in my power to help her heal.

Even if it took the rest of my life.

Alessandro's POV

I stood in the shadows of the garden, the cool night air biting at my skin. My hands were clenched at my sides, the tension in my body refusing to ease. Calvin's report from earlier still echoed in my mind.

Gary Fowler.

The name was a poison, burning through me with every thought. He was out there, breathing, while my daughter was upstairs trying to piece herself back together.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Calvin.

"Boss," he answered immediately.

"Tell me you've found him," I said, my voice low and cold.

"Not yet," Calvin replied. "But we've got his men on the run. It's only a matter of time."

"Time," I muttered, shaking my head. "I'm done waiting, Calvin. I want every resource we have on this. I want every safe house, every contact, every deal he's ever made. I want him in front of me by the end of the week."

"Yes, Boss."

I ended the call and slipped the phone back into my pocket, staring out at the dark expanse of the garden. The stars above were indifferent, their cold light mocking me.

I thought of Serafina, of the fear in her eyes when I'd seen her earlier. I thought of Isabella, the pain in her voice when she told me how broken our daughter was.

I couldn't fix what had been done to her. But I could make sure that the man responsible paid for every second of her suffering.

And when I found Gary Fowler, I would make him beg for mercy. And I would give him none.