Chapter 05: Way Back Home

SERENA’S POV

Sixteen years of a carefully built life fit into three cardboard boxes and two suitcases. I sat in the quiet cabin of the private jet with my forehead resting against the cool window and watched clouds slide past in endless white. My legs trembled but I didn’t stand up.

The flight from America to Italy took the better part of ten hours. Every minute carried me closer to the house where I had once known what safety felt like before fear and guilt packed me onto a plane at nine years old. I had built walls since then, thick ones.

I answered my mother’s calls and my brother’s messages, yet I kept my father at a careful distance, not out of hatred. He had done what he believed was necessary to keep me alive. I simply no longer knew how to reach for him the way the younger version of me once had.

The last time they had visited was two years ago and our conversation had ended in raised voices all because I refused to leave the life I had carved out for myself as a writer. I had not let him close again.

Anxiety sat heavy in my chest as the plane began its descent. What would he say when he saw me? Would the icy Don I had painted in my mind be the man who meets me, or would any piece of the father I remembered as a little girl still exist behind his eyes? I missed that earlier version of him more than I had ever admitted out loud.

The wheels of the plane touched the runway with a soft jolt. I gathered my things, moved through the private terminal, and stepped into the bright Italian afternoon with my heart already climbing into my throat.

They were waiting for me, all of them.

I saw them before they saw me. My father, Lorenzo, was pacing a short restless path near the exit, his hands flexing at his sides. My mother, Elena, stood close, one hand on his arm, speaking low as if trying to settle him. Renzo lingered a few steps away, scanning the arriving passengers with his sharp attention. Lorenzo looked nothing like the untouchable figure I had carried in my head for years. He looked like a man who had not slept.

Renzo turned to my direction and saw me. His mouth curved. “There she is.”

Lorenzo stopped mid-step and lifted his head. The moment his eyes found me, every wall I had built over sixteen years cracked down the center. His hands were trembling at his sides. I could see how much he was holding back as if one wrong breath might send him forward too fast. The cold don I had expected was nowhere in sight. Only my father stood there, older and visibly shaken.

I let go of the luggage handle.

“Papa.”

The word left me broken as tears broke free. I ran towards him. He met me halfway with his arms open wide, his dignity and reputation forgotten.

“My baby girl.”

The old name wrapped around me for the first time in fifteen years. I had told him to stop using it on me when I was ten years old. He had respected the request even though I knew it hurt him. Hearing it now undid something deep in my chest. I buried my face against his shoulder and cried while his arms locked around me.

Elena reached us a moment later, her voice soft and thick with emotion. “Mia figlia preziosa.” She pulled me into her own embrace and held on while I shook.

“I missed you, Mama,” I whispered amidst tears.

Renzo collected my bags without comment, then cleared his throat with deliberate exaggeration.

“I see how it is. Your parents are more important than me, right?”

A wet laugh escaped my lips. I turned and wrapped my arms around my brother, breathing in the familiar scent of him. For a few suspended minutes we were simply a family standing on Italian soil again after far too long.

“Let’s go home,” Lorenzo muttered, cleaning his wet eyes. “Your mother made preparations for a small birthday dinner. I know you must be hungry.”

I smiled and let the warmth of their attention settle over the disaster of the night before.

The drive to the estate passed in a blur of familiar roads and quiet conversations. When the car finally stopped in front of the house I stepped out and froze as memories from that night flooded my head. I remembered the night they wheeled my grandfather’s body to the morgue.

I remembered standing at the upstairs window the following morning, watching my father sit on the front steps with his head in his hands as he cried like a lost child. I remembered overhearing his words with my mother. Those words didn’t sound like a blame but my nine-year-old mind decided that he hated me for the death of his father.

And that belief had been the reason why I stayed away from them all these years. I blinked the tears back before anyone noticed and turned to face my parents. Lorenzo stood behind me, watching me with careful eyes.

“I’m fine, Papa,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”

Renzo carried my bags up to the room that had once been mine. Everything was exactly as I had left it as a child, as if the space had been waiting for me to return.

“I know it’s childish,” Renzo teased. “Dad wouldn’t let anyone change anything. He wanted you to come home to your room just like you like it. The old man has missed you a whole lot, Serena.”

Those words made my heart ache with bitter joy.

Dinner that evening carried a gentle awkwardness. The table was filled with most of the meals I stopped eating. My mother felt sad not knowing the woman I had become over the years, Renzo remembered some of my preferences and got others wrong. My father mostly watched.

I sat among them and felt the quiet truth settle deeper. I no longer knew how to be their daughter in the easy way I once had. They kept reaching anyway, adapting, and making space for me.

Near the end of the meal Lorenzo set his glass down.

“Why didn’t you tell me someone was following you?”

The question held no heat directed at me. Only the hard edge of a man who had learned too late that danger had been close to his precious child.

I kept my voice even. “I’m sorry, Papa. I thought it was a fan at first. It wasn’t serious until he somehow got into my apartment.”

He studied me for a long moment. “You will have a bodyguard assigned to you tomorrow. And this is not up for a debate.”

I opened my mouth to argue but the words refused to come out under his gaze. I turned to my mother. She turned away quickly as if she had no opinion in the matter. I turned to Renzo, he flashed me a smile and continued with his meal.

*************************************

I walked downstairs the next morning, Mother was in the kitchen making me my favorite breakfast, the one I had loved as a child. The scent of it filled the air. I stood at the entrance of the kitchen as I contemplated whether or not to tell her that I no longer ate those particular dishes. The words would hurt her like they did last night and I couldn’t bring myself to hurt her further.

“Buongiorno Madre,” I greeted her as I accepted her hug.

“Good morning, Mother.”

Just then Renzo’s voice cut through from the doorway.

“Serena.”

I turned to face him. He stood in the living room with that composed expression he always wore when he meant business.

“Come here. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I quickly understood what he meant by that. There was no way I was getting a bodyguard.

“I’ll pass,” I replied.

His expression shifted into something colder and absolute. He was no longer my brother.

“Vieni qui,” he commanded.

The command left no room for argument. I walked to him.

“This is Stefano Morello. He will be your new bodyguard,” he said as he gestured to the man standing with his head lowered.

I turned. My breath caught as he raised his head to look at me.

I knew those eyes, I knew that face. I knew the controlled line of that mouth on my breasts. I knew the taste and feel of his cock inside me. This was the man from two nights ago.

“Oh mio Dio,” I whispered to myself.

He stood three steps away from my brother in a dark suit, calm and immaculate, as if he wasn’t the one that wrecked me and disappeared without a trace.

“Piacere di conoscerla, signora,” he greeted in pure unhurried Italian. “I’m happy to serve you.”