Alessandro's POV

The house was quiet when I walked into the living room, the kind of quiet that I'd come to recognize over the years. It wasn't peaceful—it was watchful, tense, like the calm before a storm. I glanced out the window, where the last rays of sunlight stretched across the garden, casting long shadows over the worn basketball hoop and the children gathered around it.

Not children, I corrected myself. Not anymore. My sons had grown into men in the years since Serafina disappeared, each of them bearing the weight of her absence in their own way. And now she was back. My little girl—my youngest—had returned, but the light she'd once carried with her had dimmed.

I sat down heavily on the couch, my elbows resting on my knees as I ran a hand over my face. No amount of power, no reach of our family's influence, had been enough to save her from what she'd endured. And even though we had her back now, I couldn't shake the guilt that had settled in my chest like a stone.

"Alessandro?" Isabella's voice broke through my thoughts, soft and soothing. I looked up to see her standing in the doorway, a tray of tea in her hands. Her dark hair was pulled back, and her eyes, though weary, still held that same fierce determination I'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

"She's outside," I said, gesturing toward the window.

Isabella's gaze followed mine, and a small smile tugged at her lips as she watched Serafina and the boys. They were laughing now, their voices carrying through the open window. It was a sound I hadn't heard in years—a sound I hadn't realized how much I'd missed.

"She's trying," Isabella said quietly, setting the tray down on the coffee table before sitting beside me.

"I know," I murmured.

"She needs time," she continued, her hand finding mine. "But she also needs us to be strong for her."

I nodded, but the weight in my chest didn't lessen. "I failed her, Isabella. I should have protected her. I should have—"

"You did everything you could," she interrupted firmly, her grip tightening on my hand. "And now we have her back. That's what matters."

Her words were meant to comfort me, but they only reminded me of the responsibility that now rested on my shoulders. Serafina was back, but she was different. She was fragile in ways she hadn't been before, and it was up to us to help her rebuild herself.

The sound of the back door opening drew our attention, and I turned to see Enzo leading Serafina inside. She looked small next to him, her shoulders slightly hunched, but there was a faint smile on her face.

"Papa," she said softly, her voice tentative.

I stood, the sight of her washing away the storm of guilt and self-recrimination that had been swirling inside me. She was here. She was safe.

"Fina," I said, crossing the room in a few strides. I stopped in front of her, unsure for a moment whether she'd accept the embrace I so desperately wanted to give her. But then she stepped forward, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my chest.

I held her close, my hand resting gently on the back of her head. "You're home now, tesoro," I murmured. "And we'll keep you safe. I promise."

Her grip tightened, and for a moment, I felt her shoulders shake. It was a quiet kind of crying, the kind that didn't come with sobs but carried just as much pain. I didn't let go.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red, but she looked up at me with a small, fragile smile. "Thank you, Papa," she whispered.

"Always," I said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Enzo stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "She beat us all at basketball, by the way," he said, a hint of humor in his tone.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. "Is that so?"

"She's lying," Antonio called from the kitchen, where he and Luca were rummaging through the fridge. "She barely got the ball in the air!"

Serafina laughed—a quiet, genuine laugh—and the sound lifted something heavy inside me.

"Don't listen to them," Matteo said, walking in with a bowl of chips. "She was amazing."

"Sure, she was," Dante added, smirking as he grabbed a soda from the counter.

The banter continued, and for the first time in years, the house felt alive again. Isabella stood beside me, her hand slipping into mine, and I glanced at her, finding the same quiet relief in her eyes.

It wasn't perfect. Serafina still had a long road ahead of her, and so did we. But in that moment, as laughter filled the air and my family stood together, I allowed myself to hope.

We would face whatever came next—together.