My arrival

~ KAIA’S POV ~

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I arrived in Italy. The eight-hour flight was supposed to be just a simple journey across continents, but to me it was far from ordinary. Those long eight hours dragged endlessly, filled not with rest or distraction like other passengers might have experienced, but with relentless emotional torment. My heart ached with every tick of the clock. Every hum of the plane’s engine reminded me that with each passing moment, I still hadn’t heard from Kai.

Kai. My son. My life.

Not a single word. Not a whisper. Not even the smallest reassurance that he was okay. The silence was louder than anything I had ever endured. My hands stayed restless throughout the flight, fidgeting with the edge of my seatbelt, tapping the armrest, rubbing the small charm bracelet Kai once played with in his tiny fingers. I thought about his smile, his innocent laughter, and then the sharp sting of reality always came crashing back—his crying voice, the fear in his wails the last time I heard him. The sound replayed like an endless loop, haunting me, piercing me deeper every time I tried to breathe.

I had no way of reaching Rodriguez. He had contacted me only once, his message delivered from a private line that gave me no means to reply or trace him back. That one message left me stranded, powerless, and now I'm thousands of miles away from home, alone in a foreign country, with nothing but sheer will to guide me.

The taxi pulled up to a smooth stop, breaking through my spiraling thoughts. I lifted my eyes and saw the hotel standing proudly before me. Lusso 21. The name shimmered in clean, bold letters across the entrance. The airline had recommended it for travelers and tourists, promising comfort and security. At that moment, I clung to those promises like lifelines.

Stepping out of the taxi, I inhaled deeply as a warm breeze drifted across my skin. For a brief second, it felt like Italy itself was welcoming me…its air, its gentle kiss of warmth, its soft invitation to stay. Yet beneath that warmth, a heaviness still pressed against my chest. I released a loud breath, one filled with exhaustion and a desperate attempt to push away the ache lodged deep in my soul. With my suitcase in hand, I forced my steps forward and walked inside.

The hotel lobby smelled faintly of polished wood and citrus. A chandelier of sparkling crystal hung from the ceiling, scattering soft golden light across the marble floor. Tourists laughed near the reception, their accents rolling through the air, their joy a sharp contrast to my inner storm. My voice was steady but faint when I checked in. I barely registered the receptionist’s smile or the elegant details of the room key handed to me. My body moved on autopilot, driven only by the desperate need to collapse.

Once in my room, I shut the door behind me and finally let myself breathe. The bed stood neatly made, its white sheets tucked in with perfect precision. I lowered myself onto it, pressing my face against the pillow. The sheets carried a clean, aseptic fragrance—like fresh linen bathed in sun and air. The scent was calming, yet it also reminded me of hospitals, of sterile rooms, of the fragility of life. I closed my eyes, clutching the fabric, wishing I could bury myself deep enough to erase the ache inside.

But I can’t rest. I can’t allow myself to sink into despair. Now that I was here, in Italy, my mission had to begin. I had to gather every shred of information I could about Vittorio. Vittorio Caruso—the man standing like a towering shadow in all of this. He is the key. He is the reason Kai is being held to have me caught in this nightmare. He is also the man I needed to understand, to reach, to somehow manipulate if I ever wanted to hold my son again.

I forced myself into the bathroom and let the hot shower wash over me. Droplets streamed down my body, mixing with the silent tears that I no longer bothered to wipe away. By the time I stepped out, I felt lighter physically, though my soul remained heavy. I changed into a simple sweatpant and a tank top—clothes of comfort, clothes that made me feel like myself even in this strange new place.

I climbed into bed once more, this time lying flat on my back, eyes drifting upward. The ceiling above me was designed with stylish detail; smooth curves, painted patterns, lines that danced together like quiet whispers of art. My eyes traced them slowly, desperately searching for distraction, for a rhythm to quiet my restless thoughts.

But no distraction lasted long. The worry came back like a sharp blade.

“I hope Kai ate well last night,” I whispered to the empty room. The sound of my own voice startled me. It is shaky, fragile, almost unrecognizable.

A hot tear slipped down the corner of my eye, trailing across my temple into my hair. I closed my eyes tightly, but it was no use. The memory hit me again, merciless and raw—his wailing voice. His cry, desperate and frightened, echoing inside me. I pressed my palms against my ears as if I could shut it out, but it was not just a sound. It was carved into my soul.

“I’m going to get you,” I muttered, my voice low, breaking. “Please hold on for me.”

The silence that followed is heavy. No reply came, of course. Just the hum of the air conditioner, the faint sounds of Italy outside my window. Yet in that silence, I made myself a vow. I would not stop. I would not break. Whatever it took, whoever I had to face, I would get my son back.

And as I lay here, clutching the sheets of a strange hotel room in a foreign land, my heart beat with one aim: to get my son back.