Chapter 4

MIRELLA POV

A few days later, we all head back home for the holidays. When I arrive, the house is quiet. Too quiet.

My father isn’t around,I expected that. I head upstairs, unpack slowly, placing everything in its place.

The routine feels familiar. The kitchen feels warmer, lived in, and comfortable.

“Madam Mirella!” Rosa, our cook beams the moment she sees me. I smile immediately. She’s always been more than just a cook to me, she's like a mom, she took me like I'm her very own daughter and has looked after me since I was a child.

“Welcome back, my dear,” she says, pulling me into a warm embrace. “I missed you,” I admit softly.

“And I missed you more,” she replies, cupping my face briefly. “How was school?”

“Good,” I say, settling onto a stool. “Busy. Stressful. But… fun too.” I tell her about lectures, About exams, and about a picnic we had, the laughter.

Everything felt normal again, everything felt safe. I leave out the rest.

The watching. The man. The name I can’t forget.

Morning comes quietly, for a moment, everything feels normal again. I wake up, stretch, and move through my routine—washing my face, applying skincare, grounding myself in small, controlled actions. It helps, a little.

A knock comes at the door, “Food is ready,” the cook calls. “And your father is back.” I pause. He’s back.

Something in my chest tightens slightly.

Downstairs, the living room is filled with the low sound of the news. My father sits on the couch, composed as always, watching the broadcast like the world depends on it.

Riccardo Salviati doesn’t look surprised to see me.

He rarely is.

“Good morning, father,” I say. “Mirella,” he acknowledges, his tone calm. “You’re back.”

“Yes.”

“How was school?”

“Good,” I replied. “Exams were… manageable.”

“And your studies?”

“On track.” I pause slightly. “How’s work?”

“Busy,” he says simply. We move to the dining table, breakfast is served. For a while, we eat in silence.

Then— “Is everything alright?” he asks. The question is casual, too casual. I glance up slightly. “What do you mean?” His gaze doesn’t shift. “You haven’t noticed anything unusual?”

My heart skips, just once. The memory flashes—

Dark eyes, Stillness. I’m always around you.

I force my expression to remain calm.

“No,” I say.

A lie,smooth, careful.

Because the thought of him, of that man anywhere near this house terrifies me more than I want to admit. “Good,” my father says, but there’s something unreadable in his tone. “If you do… inform me immediately.” I study him now, suspicion creeping in.

“Why?” I ask. His expression doesn’t change.

He picks up his glass, takes a slow sip and ignores the question completely. Like I never asked it. Silence settles between us again. But this time—

It feels different. He knows something.

I’m sure of it.

And suddenly…

I’m not the only one hiding things anymore.

I head up to my room immediately after breakfast while Father leaves for work. My phone chimes with a message from Elara.

“What’s up, girl? Grandpa’s birthday is in a few days and I don’t know what to get him. Mind helping me pick something?”

Right. I almost forgot about his birthday. Elara’s grandfather has always treated me like his own granddaughter, and I care about him deeply. “Sure, girl! I’ll be getting him something as well,” I reply.

Her response comes instantly. “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”

“Alright.”

I drop my phone and hurry to get dressed.

Thirty minutes later, I’m seated in Elara’s car.

“Hey, girl!” she chirps.

I cringe. “Quit sounding like that. You sound so clingy.”

“Well, what can I say? I missed you,” she replies dramatically.

“Oh please, it’s only been a day since we last saw each other,” I retort.

“Isn’t that enough time to miss you? Now I’m hurt.”

I laugh, and she glances at me before we both burst into laughter.

We head toward an auction house located a bit far from the city. Elara parks, and we step out, making our way inside. Security stops us to ensure we’re not carrying any weapons before letting us through. Once cleared, we take our seats near the front row.

Among the items listed for auction is an old painting titled The Spring, created by a renowned artist known as Elevator. It’s an exquisite piece—one that has been the talk of high society for quite some time. Elara’s grandfather adores the painting, which is why we decided to get it for him.

The artist had refused to sell it during his lifetime, choosing instead to keep it as one of his finest works. After his death, his children preserved it, but when it eventually passed to one of his grandsons, he chose to sell it due to financial struggles.

And now, here we are.

We wait patiently as item after item is auctioned off until finally, the painting is brought forward—the last piece of the day.

The auctioneer lifts it carefully. “As we all know, ladies and gentlemen, this is The Spring, painted by Elevator…”

He goes on about its history and immense value before the bidding begins.

“This painting starts at ten million euros.”

We remain silent as the numbers rise—fifteen, twenty, twenty-five million.

Then Elara raises our tag.

“Twenty million euros.”

The room falls quiet. The auctioneer counts.

“Going once… going twice… sold! Twenty million euros to number thirty-seven.”

That’s us.

Elara and I exchange excited glances, barely containing our laughter as we stand to claim the painting. After signing the documents and completing the transfer, we finally take possession of it.

By the time we’re done, it’s already evening.

“Italian or seafood?” Elara asks as we get into the car. “Seafood,” I answer without hesitation. It’s always been my favorite. We arrive at a high-end restaurant she frequents and place our orders shortly after being seated.

Elara sighs, her mood shifting.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I don’t think so,” she admits. “My family’s been trying to pair me up with the Elmando family… for marriage.”

I gasp. The Elmando family is notorious—deeply involved in drugs and illegal dealings. Their son, Leonardo, is infamous for changing women as often as he changes clothes.

“I can’t believe your family would set you up with someone like that, knowing his reputation,” I say, anger rising in my chest.

“I know,” she replies softly. “But they don’t really have a choice. They need the connection… the power. And it’s not like arranged marriages are anything new in our world.”

I sigh, hating how true that is. I’m honestly surprised my father hasn’t tried to tie me to some terrible family yet.

“I’m so sorry, Elara,” I say gently. “If anything goes wrong—anything at all—you can come to me. Don’t hesitate, okay?”

She gives a small nod. “Yeah… I know.”

Our food arrives shortly after, and we eat while talking about lighter things—plans for the holiday, anything to keep our minds from sinking into gloom.

After dinner, she drops me off at home. I wave goodbye, smiling as her car disappears into the distance. As I turn toward the house, I stop abruptly.

My eyes scan the surroundings, searching—hoping—for a glimpse of Silenzio. He hasn’t shown himself all day. I didn’t even feel his presence.

“Is he sick of me already?” I mutter.

The thought hits me suddenly, like a shock.

Why do I feel… disappointed?

With Silenzio, I feel seen—recognized in a way I’ve never experienced before. He makes my body come alive, and it’s confusing. His presence makes me feel safe… which makes no sense, considering I should be afraid of him.

Someone calls my name, but it sounds distant—until a hand touches my shoulder.

I flinch, turning sharply, only to sigh in relief when I see Rosa.

“Why are you just standing outside in the cold looking lost?” she asks, concern written all over her face.

“Oh… I was just thinking. I felt like I forgot something in Elara’s car,” I lie.

“Why don’t you settle in first and check your things?” she suggests. I nod and head inside.

Once in my room, I collapse onto my bed, staring at the ceiling.

Silenzio.

I can’t get him out of my head.

I wonder what he’s doing right now.

Probably killing someone, my mind whispers.

And yet, I smile, remembering how he dealt with that guy at the bar.

“Is it normal to feel attracted to your stalker?” I murmur to myself.

Shaking my head, I push the thought aside and head to the shower, ready to wash away the weight of the day.