Dante's Pov:

The house was a wreck. Even from the street, you could tell it was a monument to neglect. The peeling paint, the sagging roof, the cracked windows—it all screamed of the same rot that infected people like the Millers. It was the kind of place you wouldn't look at twice unless you were desperate for something—or someone.

I leaned against the hood of the car, my arms crossed as I stared at it. The soft hum of the engine had died down minutes ago, leaving only the muffled sounds of the neighborhood: distant barking dogs, the faint hum of a television, the occasional passing car. It all felt too normal for the kind of evil that house harbored.

"She's in there," Enzo said, breaking the silence.

I turned to my brother, his sharp, calculating face illuminated by the dim glow of the streetlamp. Enzo was the family's strategist, the calm in the storm. But even he looked tense tonight.

"How sure are we?" I asked, my voice low.

Enzo pulled a phone from his pocket and handed it to me. On the screen was a photo—grainy, taken from a distance. A girl, no older than fifteen, with wild curls falling over her face. She was taking out the trash, her slight frame hunched under the weight of the bag. Even in the poor quality of the image, I could see the bruises.

"It's her," Enzo said with quiet conviction. "The eyes, the curls—it matches everything we have from before she was taken. And the bruises..." His voice trailed off, a flash of anger crossing his face.

My hand tightened around the phone. I stared at the picture, feeling something clawing at my chest. It had been ten years. Ten years since she was stolen from us. Ten years of chasing shadows, following dead ends, and wondering if she was even still alive.

And now, here she was.

"Whoever did this," I said, my voice cold and steady, "is going to pay."

Enzo nodded, his jaw tight. "What's the plan?"

I glanced back at the house. The lights were on in a few windows, the faint glow casting long shadows on the lawn. It looked so normal, so ordinary. But I knew better.

"We go in," I said. "Quietly. No guns unless we have to. We confirm it's her first. If it's not, we leave. If it is..." I let the words hang in the air.

Enzo smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "If it is, they don't see another sunrise."

The closer we got to the house, the more the tension in my chest tightened. I could hear the creak of the wooden steps beneath my boots, the sound unnervingly loud in the quiet night. Enzo moved beside me, his hand resting on the gun tucked into his jacket, just in case.

I motioned for him to stay back as I pressed my ear to the door. Voices drifted through—two adults, arguing about something mundane. I couldn't make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable: anger, resentment, and a sharp edge of cruelty.

Then, a third voice.

Soft. Quiet. Trembling.

Her.

I didn't even need to see her to know it was Serafina. The sound of her voice hit me like a punch to the gut. For a second, I couldn't move.

Enzo's hand on my shoulder brought me back. He gave me a questioning look, and I nodded.

We moved quickly. Enzo slid a thin piece of metal into the lock, working it with practiced ease. Within seconds, the door clicked open.

The smell hit me first.

The stench of mildew, cigarette smoke, and cheap beer wafted out, assaulting my senses. The inside of the house was worse than the outside. Trash littered the floor, the walls were stained, and the air was thick with decay.

I motioned for Enzo to stay close as we moved through the entryway. The voices were coming from the kitchen. I could see their shadows dancing on the wall as Gary and Linda argued over something.

"She doesn't even pull her weight," Linda was saying, her voice sharp and grating. "She's useless."

"We should've dumped her at the state home years ago," Gary growled. "Would've saved us a hell of a lot of trouble."

My fists clenched, but I forced myself to stay calm. Not yet.

Then, a movement caught my eye.

At the far end of the hall, a door creaked open slightly, and a face peeked out. Her face.

My breath caught.

She looked so much like the little girl I remembered, yet so different. Her curls framed a face that was thinner than it should've been, her green eyes wide with fear and exhaustion. Bruises mottled her cheek, and her hoodie hung off her small frame like a shroud.

It was her. Serafina.

I stepped forward instinctively, but the sound made her flinch. Her eyes darted to mine, and I saw the fear in them.

"It's okay," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "You're safe now."

She froze, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Who... who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

I opened my mouth to answer, but the sound of footsteps behind me made her panic.

"Gary!" she cried out, her voice breaking.

Gary and Linda burst into the hallway, their faces twisted with confusion and anger.

"What the hell is going on here?" Gary barked, his eyes narrowing as he spotted us.

Enzo stepped forward, his hand resting on his gun. "You're done," he said coldly.

Gary didn't even have time to react before I moved. My fist connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling to the floor. Linda screamed, but Enzo grabbed her by the arm, shoving her back into the kitchen.

"You don't get to scream," Enzo said, his voice ice-cold.

I turned back to Serafina, who was pressed against the wall, her eyes wide with shock.

"It's me," I said, my voice softer now. "I'm your brother. Dante. We've been looking for you."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Tears welled up in her eyes, and for a moment, I thought she might run.

Instead, she whispered, "Dante?"

Her voice broke something in me.

"Yes," I said, stepping closer. "It's me. And I'm taking you home."