Page 98 of Beneath the Shadows

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.”

Alessia

The bag I’m holding slips from my fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Antonio’s sitting in my living room, his deep blue eyes locked on mine. The hum in my throat dies instantly, replaced by a sickening twist in my stomach.

How did he find me?

The fear beneath my fury makes it hard to think. He’s a part of the life I worked so hard to escape. Seeing him here, in my space, shatters that illusion.

“Alessia,” he says, standing slowly, his movements calculated. “We need to talk.”

“Talk?” I snap, my voice braver than I feel. “You break into my apartment to talk? Get out, Antonio. Now.”

He doesn’t flinch. His calm is unnerving, too steady for someone who just barged into my life. Dressed in dark jeans and a grey Henley that clings to his body, he looks out of place here, yet disturbingly at ease. “When I leave, you’ll be coming with me.”

My pulse races, and I step back instinctively. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His gaze hardens, a silent threat lurking in those dark eyes. “You don’t have a choice.”

“The hell I don’t.” My hands tremble, but I ball them into fists, willing myself to stay calm. “You think you can just waltz in here and order me around? That’s not how it works anymore.”

"I can and I did." Antonio moves closer, closing the distance until I’m backed against the door. His hands come up, bracing on either side of my head, caging me in. "This isn’t about what you want, Alessia. Hell, it’s not even about what I want." His voice is low and controlled yet edged with an unspoken threat that makes my skin prickle.

I shove at his arms, but he doesn’t budge. “You can’t just drag me back like I’m some possession. I’m not yours to control.”

“You’re not a possession,” he says, but there’s no warmth in his words, no reassurance.

“No,” I say, my voice trembling. “I have a new life here. You can’t take that from me.”

“This isn’t up for discussion.” His words are final, an iron door slamming shut between me and freedom. “Go pack your things.”

A bitter laugh escapes. “And what am I supposed to tell my boss and the people I’ve come to know here?”

His jaw tightens. “You’ll figure it out.”

I want to scream, to claw at him. Anything that will make him understand that I’ve built a life here, one without him or the twisted world I escaped. But his eyes bore into mine, unyielding. I step away, trying to put some distance between us. “No,” I whisper. “I’m not going back. I won’t.”

“I’m not asking,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re leaving me with no choice.”

Before I can react, his arm flashes forward. The sting in my neck is quick, sharp.

“What... what did you...” I stumble back, my hand flying to the spot where he jabbed me. A slow, sinking feeling overtakes me as my vision begins to blur. “Antonio?—”

He catches me as my legs give out, lowering me gently to the sofa. The last thing I see is the regret clouding his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Alessia,” he whispers as the darkness swallows me whole.

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