Antonio
Dante and I pull into the gravel lot of a small, run-down motel just outside Magnolia Springs. The neon sign buzzes faintly, casting a faint red glow over the parking lot. It’s the kind of place that’s easy to forget as soon as you leave, which makes it perfect for our needs.
Inside the motel office, the clerk barely glances up from his magazine as I check us in under fake names. I accept the keys without a word, and we head to the room at the end of the row. The door creaks as I push it open, revealing a cramped space with peeling wallpaper, a sagging bed, and the musty scent of stale air. Dante drops his bag on the floor with a grunt, and I toss mine onto the single chair by the window.
“We’ve stayed in worse,” Dante mutters, surveying the room.
“Not by much,” I reply, locking the door behind us.
Sitting on the edge of the bed with my elbows resting on my knees, I stare at the worn carpet beneath my feet. The weight of the task ahead feels like a brick pressing against my chest. How the hell am I going to find Alessia in this town without raising suspicion?
“So, what’s the plan?” Dante asks, cutting straight to the point.
“I’ll spend the next couple of days feeling things out,” I say, pulling up a map of the area on my phone. “It’s a small town. Shouldn’t take long to cover the main areas.”
“You sure about going in alone? We could cover more ground if we both go.”
“Too risky. This place is quiet. If two strangers start poking around, people will notice. You stay here, keep an eye on the motel and surrounding area. If anything goes wrong, I’ll need a quick exit.”
Dante nods, but his eyes narrow slightly. “Where do you plan to start?”
“The pawn shop,” I say, glancing at my phone, scanning the map. “I’ll see if they have any cameras or if they've sold any recently. It’s a long shot, but it's a start.”
“Just be careful,” Dante warns, his tone serious. “If Alessia’s hiding, the locals might be protecting her.”
“I know,” I reply quietly. We both understand the stakes. Draco’s ultimatum hangs over me like a guillotine, and time isn’t on my side.
Dante straightens up, cracking his neck as he does. “I’m going to take a shower.”
I lean back against the headboard, trying to slow my racing thoughts. My plan needs to be solid, but doubt keeps creeping in. Draco’s threat isn’t just words—it’s a promise. And I can't let that bastard make good on it.
* * *
The following day, I’m up long before the sun, a habit ingrained by years of living in a world where every second counts. Dante’s already awake, sipping on a cup of coffee from the gas station across the street.
“You ready?” he asks, motioning to a second cup sitting on the table.
I nod as I take a drink. There isn’t anything left to say. We both know the plan. Now it’s just a matter of execution and luck.
The out of state license plate would’ve drawn too much unwanted attention, so I walk the few blocks to Magnolia Springs downtown shopping area and head straight for the local pawn shop.
The store is cluttered, shelves crammed with old electronics, outdated jewelry, and dust-covered trinkets. The owner, a heavyset man, barely glances up from behind the counter when I step inside.
“Morning,” I say, trying to keep things casual. “I’m looking for a camera—any come through recently?”
He lifts an eyebrow, squinting at me. “Cameras? Nah, haven’t had one in here in years.”
Another dead end.
The next few days drag on slowly. I spend my time walking through Magnolia Springs, blending in as much as I can. It’s even smaller than I expected—quaint streets lined with mom-and-pop shops and the kind of charm that belongs on a postcard. I keep my distance, observing from the fringes, making sure no one’s paying too much attention to me.
Each night, I return to the motel empty-handed, feeling the pressure mount. My window of time to find Alessia is shrinking.
On the third day, it happens. I’m walking through town, making my way past the diner when something catches my eye—a woman stepping out of a door on the side of the building. She’s wearing a white T-shirt with “The Bluebird Diner” printed across the front, black leggings, and an apron tied at her waist. Her hair is pulled back into a long ponytail, and even from across the street, I know it’s her.
Alessia.
She moves with an ease I haven’t seen in her before, a lightness in her step. She stops, looking around as if she senses she’s being watched. My pulse increases, as I stand unmoving using the building in front of me as cover. After a brief pause, she shakes her head slightly and steps into the diner.
It takes everything in me to stay rooted where I am, to not cross the street and confront her. Instead, I pull out my phone and send Dante a quick text:
Me: Found her. She’s working at the diner.
Dante: What’s your plan?
Me: Looks like she’s living above the diner—saw her come out a side door.
Dante: Was she alone?
Me: Yeah. I’ll keep watching. See if anyone else shows up. Once I’m sure she’s alone, I’ll let myself in.
Dante: Let me know when you’re ready for me.
Me: Will do.
I pocket my phone and position myself across the street, keeping my distance while I watch her through the diner’s windows. She moves between the tables, smiling and chatting with customers—she seems to fit into this place so effortlessly. It’s unsettling to see her like this, so different from the Alessia I’ve always known. Here she seems happy.
I grab a newspaper and sit on a park bench across the street, biding my time. The hours tick by, and I wait for the right moment.
Once I’m sure there’s no one else, I make my move. Slipping around the side of the building, I find a door that leads upstairs. A quick look around confirms that no one’s watching, and I pull out a small set of lockpicks. The lock yields easily, and I step inside, closing the door quietly behind me.
The apartment is small, simple. The kind of place that feels lived-in but not personal. A couch, a chair, a small table—bare essentials. On the wall, a framed black and white photograph catches my eye. Two hands are intertwined, fingers gently laced together. There’s an intimacy in it and, for a moment, I wonder what Alessia sees when she looks at it. Does she imagine that those hands could’ve been ours once. I force myself to tear my attention away from the image.
There’s a strange sense of peace here, a quiet that feels foreign to me. Alessia’s built a new life for herself, and I hate knowing I’m about to tear it apart. But this isn’t about what either or of want. It’s about survival—hers and mine.
Sitting in the armchair that faces the door, I lean back and wait.
Hours later, I hear footsteps on the stairs. Keys jingle in the lock, and the door swings open. Alessia steps inside, humming softly to herself. She doesn’t see me at first, not until she turns around.
When she does, she freezes, her eyes going wide with shock. The humming stops, and for a moment, we just stare at each other.
Finally, I speak, my voice low and steady. “We need to talk.”