Antonio
It’s taken a week of searching the house, but I finally found Alessia’s things. Valentino had hidden them in a place I never suspected—a secret room concealed behind a false wall.
I’d been in Valentino’s office countless times. He trusted me enough to allow me access, but I never imagined there was more to it than met the eye. After days of fruitless searching, frustration got the better of me. I was angry—angry at Valentino for his secrets, angry at myself for the entire mess.
I started yanking books off the shelves, throwing them to the floor. One of them—a large, leather-bound volume—hit the ground harder than the rest. The sound it made was wrong—off. I stopped, staring at the space on the shelf where it had been. Something clicked.
That’s when I found it.
Behind the empty space on the shelf, a hidden lever. I pulled it without hesitation, and the wall beside the shelf slid open, revealing a narrow, windowless room I’d never known existed. The air inside was stale, untouched. The kind of place meant to stay hidden forever.
In the center of the room was a steel safe. It didn’t take long to crack it open. Inside were Alessia’s passport and photo ID, along with a stack of forged passports—Valentino’s way of controlling her, or worse. I destroyed the forgeries and pocketed Alessia’s actual belongings. She would’ve never found this room. Valentino made sure of that.
As I step onto the front porch, I spot her coming around the corner. She’s finally ventured out of the house after days of hesitation. She’s been growing more distant with each passing day. I’ve tried to get her to open up to me, but with everything that’s happened, everything I’ve done, she’s barely speaking to me.
It’s driven a wedge between us that I’m not sure how to fix. I was hoping the fresh air might help, that maybe it would clear her head. But as she draws near, it’s clear nothing has changed. There’s something wrong. Her face is tense, her expression guarded, and the smile she forces doesn’t reach her eyes.
“How was your walk?”
“It was nice.”
I study her for a moment trying to find any hint of what’s bothering her, but she avoids my eyes.
“I found something,” I say, reaching into my pocket, feeling the cold edges of the items I retrieved.
Alessia’s eyes widen when she sees what I’m holding. Her hands tremble slightly as she takes them from me. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice soft, distant, like she’s somewhere else entirely.
There’s a pause, a lingering silence between us. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” I ask gently, not wanting to push too hard but needing to know what’s going on.
Her fingers trace the edge of the ID, her lips parting as if to speak, but the words seem trapped. Finally, she exhales. “My camera got left in Alabama.”
I don’t respond right away, hoping she’ll ask me to replace it, to let me do something—anything. But she doesn’t. She just stares down at the ID, as if it holds the answer to something far beyond either of us.
And with that, an idea forms. Her birthday is in three weeks—an opportunity to maybe make things right, to give her something that might bring a little light back into her life. But I don’t say a word. Not yet.
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, though the sadness still lingers in her eyes.
As we walk into the kitchen, something outside catches my eye. Through the French doors, I spot a dark shape on the patio table. A shiver of cold dread crawls down my spine.
“What’s wrong?” Alessia asks, her voice laced with concern.
“Stay here,” I order. Hurrying out, every nerve is on edge. A bloody knife glints under the afternoon light. Next to it is a small, folded piece of paper, stained red at the edges. The note feels heavy in my hand, like the weight of something dark creeping closer.
I unfold it slowly. The words inside are brief but chilling:
“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing. Your every step is watched, Alessia. Beware the shadows, for they may not let you escape next time—nor your keeper.”
“Oh my God,” Alessia whispers from behind me.
I whirl around, my pulse roaring. “I told you to stay—” The reprimand dies in my throat when I see her face. She’s gone pale, her eyes locked on the blood-stained knife.
Anger surges inside me, but I push it down, forcing it to stay buried. There will be plenty of time for anger. Right now, I have to be calm, for her. “It’s okay,” I say softly, pulling her close.
She trembles against me, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into me, fragile, as if she’s about to break. “I’ll take care of this. You’re safe,” I promise, pressing my lips to the top of her head.
Alessia nods, but she says nothing.
I need to find out who did this, and how they got this close to my home.
“Let’s get you inside,” I say, guiding her back into the house. Her eyes stay on the knife as if it’s still calling to her.
“Whose blood…” Her voice trails off.
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” I reassure her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
After settling her on the couch, I head to the kitchen to make a cup of the tea she’s always liked. Christmas Eve , a blend of cinnamon, vanilla, and orange. As soon as I open the tin, the familiar scent takes me back to another time.
On cold days after school, we’d sit under the bleachers, and she’d always have a cup of that fragrant tea. She once told me how her nanny, the only person who made her feel special and cared for, used to make it for her when she was little. Those smells, cinnamon, vanilla, orange, are forever tied to her.
When I was going to Alabama to bring her back, I made sure to order it online. I wanted something familiar in the house. Something to remind her of the times when she could still smile, when she felt warmth and comfort—even if just for a little while.
As I move through the kitchen, memories of her flood my mind. I remember so much about her, the way she used to smile, the light in her eyes when she talked about her dreams. And now, I’m trying to piece together what’s left of those days, hoping something as simple as this tea might help bring a little of that back.
While it steeps, I text Dante.
Me: Drop whatever you’re doing and get to my house.
Dante: What’s going on?
Me: I’ll explain when you’re here.
I bring the tea to Alessia. “Careful, it’s hot.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. She looks down at the tea, then back up at me, her eyes softening just a little. “You remembered.”
“I remember everything,” I reply, my voice low.
And I do. Every detail, every memory of who she was before all of this. It’s all still with me, no matter how much has changed.
“Dante’s on his way. We’ll figure this out.” But even as I say the words, a familiar darkness coils deep within me—a shadowy presence, reminding me that whoever did this won’t stop. They’ve made that hauntingly clear.
Minutes later, the doorbell rings. I stand to answer it, but Alessia’s hand shoots out, gripping my arm.
“Don’t leave me,” she pleads.
My heart clenches at the vulnerability in her voice. She’s openly reaching for me—seeking comfort from me. I wish it didn’t have to happen under these circumstances. I want her to feel safe with me because she wants to, not because she feels she has no other choice.
“I have to let Dante in,” I say softly, covering her hand with mine. “I’m not going far.”
She hesitates but slowly releases me. The warmth of her touch lingers on my skin as I walk to the door.
Dante steps inside, his expression dark. “What happened?” he asks, keeping his voice quiet.
“Someone left a message. It’s on the patio,” I say, my voice low, almost growling. “Take care of it.” I look over my shoulder to where Alessia sits, her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. “I need to make sure she’s okay and then I’ll meet you in the office.”
He gives a curt nod, heading out to deal with the knife.
I crouch in front of her. “ Tesoro ,” I murmur. “I’m going to talk to Dante. I need you to stay right here, okay?”
Her gaze lingers on me, searching for reassurance I can’t fully give. “Okay,” she whispers.
“I’ll leave the door open. If you need me, just come in.”
I hate leaving her alone, but we need to get right on this. The sooner the better.
“When did this happen?” Dante asks, holding up the plastic bag containing the bloody knife.
“Sometime while we were out,” I say, sinking into my uncle’s old chair. “We got home about twenty minutes ago. The knife was already there.”
“Draco?”
“It has to be,” I say, my jaw clenched. “No one else has the nerve to come this close.”
“You need more security,” Dante says, his tone firm. “Guards outside and an alarm system.”
“I won’t turn this house into another cage to keep her locked in,” I snap, the words slicing the air between us.
“It doesn’t have to be forever,” he counters. “But until this threat is dealt with, we can’t leave either of you exposed.”
The floor outside creaks, and I know Alessia’s in the hall listening. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. As much as I want to shield her from all this, there’s no escaping the world we live in.
I just hope I can protect her—without losing her in the process.