Chapter 3 The Return of Alessandro

ELARA

Five Years Later

“Babe, when will you be home?”

I shifted on the couch, the leather cool beneath my thighs, one hand brushing over my stomach without thinking. Four months along. Small enough to hide, heavy enough to remind me it was real. Anchored.

“Tomorrow evening,” Daniel’s voice came through the phone, calm and familiar. “I’ll make it back before dinner.”

The smile came before I invited it, slow, almost automatic, settling like a habit I’d practiced for two years.

“Don’t forget we promised to visit my dad,” I said, voice lighter than I felt. “He keeps asking when we’re coming.”

A soft chuckle. Warm. “I know, my love. Just wait for your man. I’ll be home soon.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, babe.”

The call ended.

Silence filled the apartment. Too quiet.

I rubbed small circles over my belly, feeling for the flutter, the tiny reminder of life inside me. Two years of marriage. Two years of calm. Predictable, steady, safe.

I had chosen that safety.

Love had nothing to do with it. I married to bury something I could never say aloud. A name I hadn’t spoken in years.

Alessandro.

Time had dulled, but not erased. And maybe one day… one day, I’d feel for Daniel what I should. What he deserved.

My phone vibrated.

Adrian.

I froze before unlocking it.

Leave the city tonight.

Go to Africa. Go to Egypt.

Do not return to Naplesn o matter what happens.

Alessandro is back.

The words burned against my chest. No explanation. No softening. Only danger, sharp and immediate.

Adrenaline surged. I called Adrian. Once. Twice.

Il numero che stai cercando non è al momento raggiungibile.

The automated voice felt like ice. Cold. Final.

I tried again. Same result.

My chest tightened. My stomach lurched. I hadn’t spoken to my family since my wedding. I had thought distance would keep me safe. Keep us safe.

I dialed Daniel. Nothing.

Again. Silence.

Fear pressed against me, low and heavy, sharper than the weight of my child.

I pushed myself up. The room tilted for a heartbeat, then steadied. Muscle memory took over.

A few clothes. Minimal. Passport.

I didn’t reach for car keys. Not yet. If Adrian was right, they were already close.

I pulled a face mask over my nose and mouth, shoved a cap low over my hair, and slipped through the side gate. Hinges barely sighed. I moved fast, careful. Invisible.

The night struck me. Cold. Sharp.

I drew my coat tighter, measured my steps. Panic was dangerous. Panic got people killed.

Headlights appeared. A taxi slowed. I raised my hand, harder than I meant to. It stopped.

“Dove andiamo, signora?” the driver asked, glancing through the mirror.

“Capodichino,” I said. “Naples International Airport.”

The words sounded foreign in my own mouth.

The car moved. My hands shook. I pressed my palms together until the tremor eased.

Please. Just let me leave.

Streetlights flashed past, marking each second I didn’t want to count.

“Signora, siamo arrivati.”

I handed him the money and stepped out before he could speak.

“Ma’am your change!”

I didn’t look back.

Inside, the airport buzzed with noise. Wheels on tiles, voices overlapping, laughter drifting. I felt disconnected. Muted. Underwater.

I moved straight to the counter. Head down. Purposeful. Twenty minutes. That’s all I needed.

The woman behind the desk smiled at me as she took my passport. I forced a small smile back.

She typed. Paused. Turned away.

“Un momento, per favore.”

My pulse thumped. Every stranger a threat. Every man in dark clothes suspicious. Anyone could know.

She returned, still smiling.

“Your flight has been delayed thirty minutes.”

“What?” I breathed, sharp and hollow.

The announcement followed:

Attention, dear passengers. All direct flights to Egypt have been delayed by thirty minutes due to bad weather conditions. We ask you to wait patiently.

Attenzione, gentili passeggeri. Tutti i voli diretti in Egitto sono stati ritardati di trenta minuti a causa delle cattive condizioni meteorologiche. Vi chiediamo di attendere pazientemente.

Complaints rose, groans, shrugs. I didn’t notice.

And then I felt it.

A presence.

“Elara.”

The voice cut through the terminal, slicing through every sound.

I turned.

Black suits. Too many of them. Silent precision in their movement.

At the center Alessandro De Luca.

Time had sharpened him. Every step, every glance commanded attention. Even strangers felt it.

“Where are you running to?” His voice was calm, deliberate, a predator pacing.

My throat tightened. “Stay away from me!” I shouted. “I didn’t do anything!”

His lips curved faintly. Then the gaze dropped.

To my stomach.

The smirk disappeared. Something colder took its place. Deadlier.

“Who is the father of that bastard?”

The word cut deeper than a knife. I swallowed. Forced my voice to hold.

“My child is not a bastard.”

It shook. But I didn’t look away.

Silence. Then he stepped back.

Two men moved in, gripping my arms.

“Let me go!” I cried, tears spilling freely.

“Please!”

“Sandro,” I sobbed. “Please I beg you!”

No response.

They dragged me toward the exit, my cries echoing, heart breaking with every step.

Only God knew where they were taking me.

Only God could save me now.

Because I knew Alessandro De Luca.

And mercy was not part of his nature.