Chapter 7: The Girl in the Garden

The garden was a blur of stone paths, wet grass, and shadows.

Siena ran barefoot, not even remembering when she lost her shoes. Her heart pounded like thunder in her chest, louder than the wind, louder than the footsteps behind her. The flashlight beams danced wildly across the hedges, but she didn’t need them.

She saw the gazebo.

And she saw the tiny shape inside.

“Lucia!”

Her voice broke in the middle of her scream, cracked and desperate. She dropped to her knees before the wooden steps, scrambling forward.

“Mommy?”

Lucia’s voice was small. Sleepy. But real.

Siena’s body shook as she reached for her, gathering the girl into her arms and holding her so tightly it was almost painful. She didn’t care.

She sobbed — quietly at first, then louder, her tears soaking into Lucia’s tangled curls.

“My baby, my baby… oh my God, you’re okay, you’re okay…”

Lucia blinked up at her with wide, confused eyes. “I was hiding,” she whispered. “The house was too big. I got scared.”

Siena kissed her daughter’s cheeks, her forehead, her hair. “You can’t do that, sweetheart. You scared Mommy so much…”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” She pulled her closer, burying her face in Lucia’s soft shoulder. “I know, baby. I know.”

Adriano stood a few steps behind, his jaw tense, his hands fists at his sides. His eyes never left them.

And when Lucia looked over Siena’s shoulder and whispered, “Is he mad?” — Siena turned to glance at the man who had nearly torn the house apart looking for her.

“No,” she said softly. “Not mad.”

Just broken.

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Siena didn’t let go for a long time. Her arms wrapped around Lucia like a shield, her fingers stroking the child’s back again and again, as if trying to convince herself that she was real. Warm. Breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered into her daughter’s hair. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Lucia clung to her, sleepy and confused but comforted. “It’s okay, Mommy. I wasn’t scared.”

Siena pulled back slightly, cupped Lucia’s cheeks. “Don’t do that again, okay? Ever.”

The little girl nodded solemnly, eyes huge and trusting. “I just wanted to find the stars. But it was too dark.”

That broke something in Siena all over again.

She kissed her forehead, then stood slowly, keeping Lucia in her arms. Her knees shook, her face blotchy from tears. And only then did she look at Adriano properly.

His expression wasn’t angry.

It wasn’t even cold.

It was wrecked.

He stepped forward, hesitant in a way she’d never seen. His voice was low, rough.

“Is she hurt?”

Siena shook her head. “No. Just scared.”

His shoulders sagged — not much, just an inch, but enough to betray the weight he’d been holding. His gaze dropped to Lucia, and for a second, something flickered — awe, grief, and something too tender to name.

Lucia blinked at him. “You were shouting.”

“I was,” he admitted.

Siena looked at him carefully, her voice quiet. “She didn’t mean to run off.”

“I know,” he said. And this time, the words held no edge.

She didn’t know what possessed her to do it, but she took a step closer, so he could see Lucia better — as if she was silently offering him a moment. A chance.

His hand twitched, as if he might reach out.

But he didn’t.

He just looked.

And that look…

It undid something in Siena.

Because for the first time, she didn’t just see Adriano Valtasari, the mafia king, the man who’d dragged her back into hell.

She saw a father.

One who had almost lost everything.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.

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Back in the room, the soft light of the bedside lamp cast a golden glow over the covers. Siena sat on the edge of the mattress, cradling Lucia as she shifted under the blanket.

Her daughter’s fingers still clutched the tattered stuffed fox, now hastily stitched together with trembling hands. Siena had tried her best — thread and needle from the bathroom drawer, shaky breaths, blinking away tears. The seams weren’t perfect, but they held. Just like she had to.

Lucia curled into the pillow, her eyes half-lidded.

“Mommy?” came the drowsy murmur.

“I’m here,” Siena whispered, stroking her hair. “Close your eyes, baby. You’re safe now.”

Lucia nodded. A few breaths later, she was asleep — small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Siena stayed there for a moment longer. Just breathing.

Trying to believe it was over.

Trying to believe that her daughter was okay. That it hadn't all shattered.

Then she stood, carefully easing herself up from the bed, pulling the blanket over Lucia’s shoulders with infinite gentleness. She turned to leave — and froze.

Adriano stood in the hallway.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just leaned one shoulder against the wall, hands at his sides, his head bowed slightly like he wasn’t sure he had the right to be there. And maybe he didn’t.

The light from the room cast a shadow across his face, but not enough to hide the exhaustion carved into his features. His jaw was tight, his eyes ringed with something that might have been guilt… or something worse.

He lifted his gaze and met hers.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then, in a voice that was nothing like the one he used to bark orders, nothing like the man who had ripped open doors and screamed at guards, he said:

“I’ll find them.”

No promise.

No bravado.

Just those three words, heavy with certainty.

He turned to leave.

Siena didn’t stop him.

She stood there in the quiet, her heart suddenly unsure whether to thank him… or to fear him.

Because the truth was still there — on her wrist, beneath the sleeve of her sweater.

A bruise.

A faint one. The shape of his fingers, ghosting against her skin like a brand. She rubbed it once, but the ache wasn’t just physical.

She had no idea who this man was anymore.

The one who’d held her child’s toy with shaking hands.

The one who’d crushed her wrist in fury.

The one who had just made a vow with nothing but his voice.

Siena stepped back into the room and closed the door quietly behind her.

And only then did she let herself sit on the floor, knees to her chest, in the dark.

Because the girl in the garden was safe — for now.

But the storm was far from over.

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