Alessia
Once I gather my composure, I go back up to my bedroom and take a hot shower. The water scalds my skin burning away the fog left behind from everything that’s happened.
After I’m dressed and my hair’s dry, I decide to take Antonio up on his offer to leave the house. He encouraged me to visit the gallery so that’s what I intend to do.
I unzip the suitcase, expecting to find the camera tucked between my things. But as I pull out the clothes, hastily thrown in without a second thought, unease crawls up my spine. My hands move faster, tossing aside the tangled mess of fabric. Where is it?
No camera.
Antonio or Dante must’ve packed the bag, and there’s no way they would’ve known to look for it. Of course they didn’t grab it. My pulse races as the realization sinks in. It’s gone.
The loss hits me hard, leaving me dizzy and breathless. That camera was everything—my refuge, my tether to the dreams I barely let myself hold on to. Rosie gave it to me when she found out how much I loved photography. It belonged to her late husband. I’ve treasured it ever since, knowing how much it meant to her.
And now, it’s gone.
I check my wallet, but there’s only fifty dollars inside. Nowhere near enough to replace it. My only hope is that Ophelia has sold some of the photos I sent her a couple of weeks ago and that she hasn’t sent the money to Alabama yet.
Just as I’m about to lose it completely, the doorbell rings. The sudden sound jolts me out of my spiraling thoughts, and I head downstairs to see who’s here.
When I open the door, I’m surprised to see Antonio’s mother standing there with a warm smile.
“I hope you don’t mind me showing up unannounced,” she says kindly.
“Antonio isn’t home right now.”
“I didn’t come for him. I came to see you,” she says, her smile genuine. “I wanted to welcome you to the family.”
I stare at her, stunned. “Antonio told you?”
“He did, and despite the circumstances, we’re glad to have you.”
My emotions, already on edge, tip over, and the tears I’ve been holding back flow freely. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, wiping at my face, embarrassed.
Nicki steps forward, enveloping me in a warm embrace. “Oh, sweetheart, there’s no need to apologize. It’s okay to not be okay, especially after everything you’ve been through.”
“Would you like to come in?” I ask, stepping aside and gesturing toward the living room.
We move to the couch and sit down. I shift uncomfortably, my hands fidgeting in my lap as silence stretches between us. Nicki sits beside me, her posture relaxed, though her eyes remain perceptive and observant.
“I’m not usually this emotional,” I start, my voice shaky. “It’s just… I thought I was finally free, away from all of this madness. Alabama was supposed to be my fresh start. I had a job and a place to live. It wasn’t much, but it was mine.”
Nicki listens intently, not judging, just letting me talk.
“Then, two days ago, I walked into my apartment and Antonio was sitting there.” The memory still feels raw, like an open wound. “He didn’t give me a choice. He forced me to come back here.”
I pause, my throat tight, the truth pressing against my lips. I could tell her about how Antonio drugged me—took away my ability to fight, my chance to decide. But what would that accomplish? Nicki’s kindness might not stretch that far. Some things are better left unsaid.
“I’m sure that was quite an unwelcome surprise.”
“I thought I was free, but it was just an illusion.”
Fear of trusting anyone in this family takes hold. I can’t tell if this is a trap, if I’ve already said too much. Will she tell Antonio? Will he punish me when he gets home?
Nicki watches me closely. “You’re worried because you opened up to me?”
I nod slowly.
“We don’t know each other well,” she continues, her voice gentle, “but I hope that can change. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I don’t support arranged or forced marriages. My father wanted to saddle me with one,” she chuckles. “But I dug my heels in and refused. Marco and I raised Antonio and Cecilia with our values.”
Her expression tightens. “I’m not pleased with how my son handled things,” she admits. “Our world isn’t easy, but that doesn’t excuse his actions.”
I’m surprised by her honesty. “I understand that my father put him in a difficult position, but it doesn’t change how I feel. Trusting someone who forced me back into this life seems impossible.” I try to compose myself.
“Antonio said some things before he left, things that reminded me of who he was when we were young. But that was a long time ago. So much has happened since then—I’m not sure trusting him is even possible.”
“Trust takes time, especially when it’s been broken. What Antonio did was wrong, and it’s okay to be angry, to be hurt.”
“I don’t know what to think. My father and Val only ever saw me as a bargaining chip to be given to the highest bidder. No one’s ever cared about me
“It’s okay to take your time. No one expects you to just forgive and forget,” she pauses. “If Antonio wants your trust back, he’ll have to work to earn it."
I bite my lip. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough to get through this.”
“You’re stronger than you think, ,” she says with a reassuring smile. “Allow yourself the space to figure things out, at your own pace.”
“Thank you, Nicki. I’ll try.”
“Just remember, you’re not alone in this. You have family now, even if it’s complicated,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m right next door and will always be there for you.”
As she leaves, I’m left with a swirl of emotions—uncertainty and a faint spark of something I haven't felt in a long time.
* * *
After the incident with the camera, the days blurred together in a haze of frustration and helplessness. It took a full week for me to gather the courage to finally step outside.
As soon as my foot hits the pavement, I pause, scanning the empty street. For a moment, I half-expect someone to leap out and drag me back inside—to remind me that my freedom is still just an illusion. But no one comes.
The air is still, and the street is quiet, almost eerily so. It hits me like a punch to the gut—I'm almost twenty-two, and I’ve never been completely alone. There’s always been someone watching—guards hovering close by, shadowing my every move, ensuring I never forget how controlled my life is.
It seems that Antonio kept his promise. His guards are nowhere to be seen. The realization surprises me. I hadn’t expected him to follow through, but for now, he’s allowing me this sliver of freedom.
The longer I walk, the more uneasy I become. My father’s threats lurk in the corners of my mind, and I glance around, but there’s no one I recognize, no shadowy figure lurking nearby. Still, I can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
I focus on the steady rhythm of my footsteps, the warm breeze brushing against my skin. By the time I reach the gallery, my anxiety has eased.
Ophelia looks up when I step inside. Her surprise is evident. “Allie. I didn’t realize you were back in town.”
“I just got back,” I say, managing a small smile. “I was wondering if any of my photos sold.”
“Oh yes, quite a few, actually. But I sent the money order to your address in Alabama.”
I force a nod, pushing down the disappointment. “That’s okay. I’ll wait until the envelope gets returned here.”
“I’m sorry for the mix-up.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” I reply, trying to make it sound casual. “I came back much sooner than I anticipated.”
“I hope everything’s okay?”
I’m momentarily at a loss, but I recover quickly. “It will be.”
“Do you have any new photos? I’d love to see what you’ve been working on.”
“Not yet. It’s going to take a little while before I’m settled enough to take new ones. But I’ll bring some by when I do.”
“Take your time,” she says gently. “I’m glad you’re back.”
The walk home feels longer. The streets blur as I replay the disappointment over and over in my mind. I needed that money. It was supposed to be the start of saving for a new camera. But that envelope will never find its way back to me because Allie Morgan doesn’t exist—she never did.
When I finally reach the house, Antonio’s just walking up the porch steps. His expression softens when he sees me. Despite everything, I find comfort in his presence—a security I can’t quite explain.