CHAPTER 15
Ariana's POV
It felt like my body was floating when I came back to my senses. The first thing I felt was cold air crawling across my skin — not the soft kind that wakes you up in bed, but the kind that makes you wonder where the fuck you are.
Pain hit next. Sharp, spreading through every inch of me until breathing hurt. My head throbbed so bad it made my heartbeat echo behind my eyes. I was awake, but my body didn’t believe it.
“This is all your fault!”
“What the fuck do you mean? How is it my fault?”
“You got the wrong gir—fuck, she’s awake!”
Their voices sliced through the fog.
I forced my eyes open. The same four walls. The same goddamn basement. So it wasn’t a nightmare after all. The light was dim, the air thick with damp concrete. I blinked a few times, trying to focus, but the déjà vu hit hard enough to make my head spin.
Bruno and Salvatore. Both standing there, arms crossed, shadows cutting across their faces. They looked bigger than I remembered. More dangerous.
“Ah, you’re awake,” Salvatore said, crouching in front of me with a smirk that wasn’t friendly. The bastard’s face was carved in stone and full of rage, like I’d personally offended him by existing.
When I tried to move, the rope bit into my wrists. I was tied to a fucking chair. Panic shot through my chest, and I tugged against it until my skin burned. My throat was dry, every swallow scraping like glass.
“Bella?” Salvatore hissed. “That’s not your fucking name, is it?”
I jerked back, the chair tipping with me until I crashed hard onto the floor. Pain exploded through my shoulder.
“Hey, man, leave it,” Bruno said, moving in. His voice wasn’t gentle, but his hand was. He grabbed my arm and helped me up, his grip steady. I flinched anyway. “Just help her up.”
“Help her up?” Salvatore snapped. “Stiamo mangiando merda a causa di questa ragazza!”
But he still helped. Probably because he knew if he didn’t, he’d be the one eating that merda.
When they had me upright again, I stood trembling under their glares. I wanted to scream, to claw my way out. Anything. The fear was so thick it sat on my tongue.
These men weren’t amateurs. They weren’t street thugs. They were mafia — I knew that look, that tone, the way violence clung to them like a second skin.
And somehow, after three fucking years of running, I was right back where I swore I’d never be.
Before I could even form a word, someone else walked in. The door groaned open, and a gust of cold air followed him. A few men stepped through, dark suits, colder eyes.
“Untie her,” Salvatore growled. “I don’t want to deal with her anymore. Get her cleaned and dressed, just like boss said. Then bring her down.”
Boss. The word hit my chest like a weight.
They didn’t look at me again as they left. The men who stayed behind cut me loose and hauled me to my feet. My legs were jelly, my wrists raw.
A woman appeared at the door. I stared — she looked out of place here. Her clothes were straight out of another century, something between a maid’s uniform and a funeral dress. Maybe mid-thirties, maybe older, definitely not from around here.
She didn’t speak at first, just led me through the hall until we stopped in front of a massive room.
It was... beautiful. Old furniture, polished floors, a chandelier that could’ve cost a house. Way too elegant for a prisoner.
“Here,” she said finally, her accent thick but her tone soft. “Take these.” She handed me a towel and folded clothes. “Clean yourself. When you’re done, get dressed and wait. I’ll come take you back.”
“Okay. Thank you,” I whispered, my voice cracking.
I showered — hot water burning across bruises, washing blood down the drain. The clothes she gave me were soft, expensive, not something I’d ever wear, but I put them on anyway. Then I sat. Waiting.
Time blurred. I didn’t know how long I’d been in that room — minutes, hours. I thought about running, but I didn’t even know where I was. The mansion was a maze, and the guards outside the door weren’t exactly the forgiving type.
And then there was Matt. My chest clenched. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead, and the thought twisted my gut.
Mom.
Fuck. Mom would be losing her mind right now. I just prayed she’d called the cops, though I doubted they’d get anywhere near this place.
The door opened again, and I jumped.
“Follow me,” the woman said. “Please don’t run. We’re not here to harm you.”
Her words soothed me for a second — but only a second. My brain didn’t believe them.
We walked through long, echoing halls. Marble floors, gold-framed paintings, tall windows that stared out at acres of green. This wasn’t a house; this was a fortress disguised as art.
We turned into a new hallway, and voices reached my ears — sharp, angry, distant. Male. Italian. The tone alone was enough to make my heart trip in my chest.
Every step I took made my stomach twist tighter. I’d barely escaped death once. If this was where it ended, it would be the cruelest fucking irony imaginable.
Because deep down, I had a feeling. A gut-twisting, soul-burning feeling.
Once we reached the end of the hall, the woman told me to wait. I did, quietly, until my eyes drifted left — and that’s when I saw him.
For a second, I thought my brain was playing tricks again. But then the air left my lungs, my pulse stuttered, and the name slipped out in a whisper that barely left my lips.
“Alessandro...”
My body went still. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
The last time I’d seen him, he was half-dead — bloodied, cold, his pulse fading under my shaking hands. I told myself for years that he’d survived, that he couldn’t be gone. But believing something and seeing it are two different kinds of pain.
Now he was here. Alive. Breathing. Real.
And fuck, he looked... different.
He stood across the room, his side profile carved sharp against the light pouring through the tall window. Tailored suit. Shoulders broader, presence heavier. The kind of man people feared to disappoint. My chest tightened as I watched him move, confirming what my mind refused to.
He was Alessandro.
“I don’t give a fucking shit! Go find her right away!”
His voice hit me like a shot. Rough, commanding, too familiar.
“Alessandro...” I breathed again, but my throat closed up halfway through his name. My vision blurred, and for a moment I thought I’d pass out right there. I blinked fast, trying to hold on to reality, trying to stop my legs from giving out.
Because what scared me more than seeing him alive... was the thought that he might not want me anymore.
By the time my thoughts stopped spinning, I realized the housekeeper had started leading me away. I caught a glimpse of Bruno and Salvatore exiting the room I’d just seen him in.
Instinct kicked in.
I pulled free, shoved past them before they could stop me, and ran straight to that door. My breath hitched when I burst through.
He was there.
Alessandro stood by the window, the skyline bleeding gold behind him. When he heard me, he turned — and froze like he’d seen a ghost.
My chest caved in. Every cell in my body screamed to move, to speak, to fucking breathe.
“Alessandro...” My voice cracked.
Behind me, a shout. “What is your problem?” Salvatore barked. He stormed up and grabbed me, yanking me backward. “Why can’t you just listen to what we tell you to do?”
“P-please... l-let me go,” I stammered, struggling against his grip, tears spilling before I could stop them.
“Salvatore.”
That voice. Deeper now. Harder.
I looked up — Alessandro stood in front of us, hands buried in his pockets, gaze unreadable. His tone was calm, but there was iron in it.
“Let her be.”
Salvatore froze, then slowly released me. His jaw tightened before he turned and left without another word.
And suddenly it was just us.
Silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
I stood there, barefoot on the cold marble floor, staring at him like I’d waited my whole life for this moment — only to have it crush me from the inside out. He was right there, but he wasn’t him anymore.
He looked older, sharper. The beard, the tailored suit, the way he carried himself — this wasn’t the same man who used to laugh at 3 a.m. with a gun in one hand and me in the other.
He wasn’t my Alessandro anymore.
“You’re free to go.”
The words hit harder than a bullet.
That was it? After all the years, all the nights I cried myself to sleep thinking about him — that’s all he had to say?
My lips parted, but no sound came out. Tears burned down my cheeks as I searched his face for even a flicker of the man I loved. Nothing. Just that cold, flat stare — the look of a man who’d buried every piece of softness he ever had.
“Alessandro,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “It’s me... Ariana.”
He stiffened, rage flashing in his eyes. He took a step back, as if even hearing my name burned.
“I don’t care who you are,” he gritted out. His jaw clenched, his voice full of venom that made my stomach twist. “You’re free to go. Leave.”
My heart splintered. “B-but... Alessandro... don’t do this.”
Tears streamed freely now, my chest heaving with quiet sobs I couldn’t hold back anymore. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t care.
“Leave,” he said again, this time turning his face away like I was something dirty on his shoe.
“Alessandro, please—please talk to me,” I begged. “I need you to talk to me!”
But instead, he moved — fast.
He grabbed me by the wrists, his grip rough and hot. I gasped as he dragged me forward, his hand closing tighter the more I tried to pull away. My mind spun too fast to process what was happening.
After all these years apart, after everything... the first time he touched me again, it was to drag me.
The Alessandro standing before me now wasn’t the boy I once loved. He was a man built from scars, rage, and silence.
And as he pulled me deeper into the mansion, one thought screamed in my head —
I didn’t escape death three years ago. I just postponed it.
While he dragged me through the hallway, the sound of our footsteps echoed against the marble, sharp and hollow like gunfire.
His grip was iron around my wrists, and the more I tried to pull away, the tighter he held on.
My breath caught in my throat — not because of the pain, but because I could feel how much he hated even touching me.
When we reached the bottom of the staircase, he finally let go. The force sent me stumbling forward, my knees hitting the cold floor as I lost balance. My palms smacked the tile, and a strangled sob broke out of me before I could stop it.
Around us, his men stood watching. Silent. Expressionless. Like statues carved out of violence. Their eyes burned holes into my back, their presence enough to make my entire body tremble.
Alessandro didn’t even look at me.
“I’ve got places to be,” he said flatly, voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Deal with this.” He turned to Bruno and Salvatore, who stood at the foot of the stairs, their eyes darting between us. “I want her gone by the time I’m back.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
Gone.
That was all I was to him now. Something to dispose of.
He turned away, his shoes clicking against the marble as he walked off without a single glance back. Not once. Not even a flicker of hesitation.
I stared after him, tears falling fast, my heart tightening until I couldn’t breathe. Watching his back disappear down the corridor felt like watching the last piece of me die all over again.
My body shook as quiet sobs escaped my lips. I didn’t even care about the men watching me — their cold glares, their disgust, their readiness to throw me out like trash. I kept my eyes on the empty hallway where he’d vanished, hoping maybe, just maybe, he’d turn around.
He didn’t.
The silence that followed was deafening. My chest ached, my pulse pounding in my ears.
This was worse than anything Nicola ever did to me. At least with Nicola, I expected cruelty. I expected pain. But Alessandro...
I had once called him home.
Now, standing here bruised and broken on his floor, I realized that home didn’t exist anymore.
I’d spent years preparing for the moment I’d see him again — imagined a hundred different ways it could go, rehearsed every word I wanted to say, every apology, every truth. But I never imagined this.
I’d wished to meet Alessandro again, prayed for it even — but not like this. Not as a stranger. Not as his enemy.
As his footsteps faded, something inside me broke in a way it never had before.
And right then, I knew.
It was time to let him go.
No matter how much it killed me...