Chapter 1

~~~~Anne's POV~~~~

"Don't worry, Austin. I'll be back soon. You just have to be a good boy for Aunt Sarah."

I smile before I can stop myself, but it is soon replaced with guilt.

I've been in Italy for a month now. Thirty days of using a name that isn't mine, of looking over my shoulder, of pretending to be someone I'm not. All to find the woman who gave birth to me. I know he is in this country. I just prayed he wouldn't find me.

"Aunty Sarah bought me lots of crayons and I drew a picture of you, Mommy. You should come see it."

I giggle at the excitement humming in his voice.

"All right, honey. Don't worry."

"Come on, Austin. Let's go get the big bowl of ice cream." Sarah's voice sounds in the background.

"Yayyy. Goodnight, Mommy. I love you."

I close my eyes, letting his sweet words sink in.

"I love you more, baby. Always."

The call ends and I lower my phone, placing it into the heavy bag of groceries clenched against my chest.

I look up and my house is just right ahead. The clouds become darker as cold breeze keeps flashing against my skin. The smell of rain fills the air. A clear sign it is about to fall.

Finally getting to my porch, I notice the lights are off, but I clearly remember leaving them on before leaving this morning.

Did they get burnt?

Fumbling out my keys from the bag, I make an attempt to open the door except it is already opened. I pause. Then with a finger, I slightly push at the door and it moves.

My hands go cold, shaking, as my mind screams run. My throat burns with the cold air being inhaled as I find it almost impossible to gulp down my saliva.

Moving forward my shaking hand, I push the door more further as my legs move on their own accord. My stomach twists as I walk in, clutching tightly onto the grocery bag as if it can save me from any harm forthcoming.

The house is dark and silent. I can only hear the sound of my escalating breath and the beating of my heart.

Then I see it...or just feel... Someone or probably something...more like a shadow, moving in the dark. And just quickly, it is gone.

"He....Hello?"

I find my voice which comes out low like a whisper. I take another step closer, not because I am brave, but because I can clearly sense something off. A long dark familiar smell. A cologne. Heavy and expensive, mixed with a dark hint of coffee.

But I don't drink coffee.

A familiar reminder of someone I never wanted to meet again in this lifetime.

He found me. A month of hiding, of being Lia Perry instead of Anne—and he still found me.

My stomach drops.

I reach for the kitchen since I am already too familiar with the house routine, it is easier. Just when I grab for the knife block, my foot hits something on the floor...a shoe.

And then, I can hear a faint breathing behind me.

I bite down on my lower lip, trying hard to stay calm. But my entire body trembles instead.

My body turns before my brain catches up as I spin around, swinging up the knife in my hand, aiming for where the chest would be...

A hand catches my wrist with a hard iron grip. The knife clatters to the floor, so does the grocery bag in my arm. Another hand claps hard over my mouth, fingers pressing into my cheeks, pushing my head back against something solid—a chest.

I try to scream but it comes out as a muffled whisper as my hands claw at the fingers digging into my cheeks. But nothing, they don't budge.

His breath comes out against my ear. The same cologne. Then comes the voice, one which always makes my blood run down my spine. One which I can easily identify even in my sleep. The same voice that keeps haunting my nightmares for six years. Low, cold and deliberate.

"Hello little angel."

My body freezes. Not because I want it to, but because it gives out. My knees go weak and numb as he holds me.

The only demon that makes my skin crawl and yet my body easily responsive.

Luca Romani.

I should have stayed hidden. I should have never come back. But I needed to know who I really am. And now I might die without ever finding out.

The light switch finally comes on but he doesn't let go of me immediately. His hand still over my mouth, his body pinning me against the wall. I feel his heartbeat against my back, calm and steady. While mine is a rabbit's.

Finally letting go of me, I stumble forward, catching myself on the kitchen counter.

The knife is still on the floor, but I can't pick it up. I don't want him seeing my hands shake. I need to be strong.

Don't let him see, I tell myself.

"Turn around."

Like mind control, my body obeys and I turn.

Luca stands three feet away. His jaw is as sharp as always. Same dark blue eyes that used to look at me like I was something precious now look cold and empty. He wears a black coat with no blood or dirt, like he has just stepped out of a meeting. Like he hasn't been dead to me for six years.

"It took a while to find you."

His voice comes out cold and smooth, making me almost choke on my spit.

"W–what? How did you—"

He tilts his head, probably waiting for me to finish my words. I lick my lips which feel dry after what seems like an hour of mouth opening. Then I look away. I can't keep staring at the same blue eyes which make me feel love and betrayal at once.

"You should leave."

I am not looking, but can surely feel his piercing gazes upon me. Then I hear him let out a deep chuckle.

"You died in a fire, Anne. At least I thought as much, since I spent the last few years lighting up candles for you." He speaks calmly, probably too calm. "So you don't expect me to leave without hearing a good story."

I face him, trying to prove there is nothing to be scared of.

"Mr. Romani, I owe you no explanations. And, it is so not cool to break into someone's house—"

"Thirty seconds." He implies.

My throat closes up. "What?"

"You heard me." He nods towards the living room, where two of his men step out of the shadows. Between them trembling is Mr. Morrison. My seventy-two year old landlord, wearing slippers.

"Please!" He whispers in tears, trembling. "I don't know anything."

Luca ignores him, his eyes still set on me. "Speak, or he forever remains silent."

I open my mouth as my brain scrambles for something...anything... That can't be the truth. No, he mustn't know.

Luca tilts his head slightly. "Who helped you?"

If I say I did it alone, he will never believe I could disappear all alone for that long without any traces. So I lie.

"It was a contract from a woman. But she's dead now."

Luca watches me for a long moment, then looks back at Mr. Morrison.

"Did you help her hide?"

Mr. Morrison shakes his head wildly. "I don't know what she's talking about. I just rent her the house. Please—"

Luca pulls out a small black gun. Silencer already threaded on. "That was your first lie." He says softly, turning to me. "Now let's try again. Who hid you?"

"I told you the truth." I whisper.

Luca nods once, and next I hear is a loud bang.

"Ahh! Ms Lia" Mr. Morrison cries out in pain, grabbing his bleeding arm as I scream, or try to, as the sound comes out strangled and broken. My knees hit the floor, not even remembering falling.

"Please, no. Spare me, I beg of you." Mr. Morrison's sobs echo as he clutches his bleeding arm.

Luca crouches in front of me, grabs my chin, and forces my eyes to meet his. His thumb gently wipes a tear I never noticed was there. He studies my face slowly, then has a smile which doesn't reach his eyes.

"Lia. No wonder I couldn't find you. You had a fake name all along. Now, you'll be a good girl and tell me everything. Even the ones that hurt."

He is no longer the loving man I once knew. He has become a monster, one who doesn't deserve the truth.

I swallow my fear, pushing it into my stomach where he can't notice, then I lift up my chin. For Austin's sake, I have to.

"I left because I never loved you."

His eyes flicker for a moment, show a tiny crack of movement.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." My voice comes out steadier than I feel. "You want to know the truth? Then here it goes. I used you, Luca. Your money and status. I was a desperate girl who needed a rich boyfriend to flutter around with for a while. And you were right there like a fool. A mere ticket out of nothing. And after getting what I wanted, what was the use of still playing around? So I left."

The lie tastes like poison, but I still keep going.

"I was never scared of anyone. Your enemies, your families. I didn't even care if they killed you. I got bored of your stupidity. Always playing around like a foolish lover boy, it made me sick. I thought you were sensible enough to take the clue after I left. I needed something new...someone fresh and ready to spend on me like a queen since you were already running down."

I force a cold fake smile.

"You're not even that interesting in bed, by the way. And I was done faking every single one of my lines."

His jaw tightens and his hands curl into fists at his sides.

I should stop, but I want him to hate me, to walk away, not looking back. And never to look for me again.

"So go ahead," I say. "Kill me, or let me go. 'Cause either way, I'm never coming back to you. And I don't love you. Never did, never will."

Something breaks behind his eyes.

He doesn't yell or scream. Just stands up and walks back to Mr. Morrison who stutters in his sobs, trembling as Luca grabs him from his men.

"No—" I start.

Luca shoves the gun against the old man's temple who looks like he is about to pass out in fear.

"You want to be cruel?" Luca's voice is low and ragged. "Fine. Watch what your cruelty buys."

"Luca, please—"

"Tell me the truth. Right now. Tell me you loved me. Tell me you didn't mean any of that. Or I swear to God—"

I can't say it. Not because I don't love him, but because if I say it, he'll never let me go. And Austin will be found. No. I can't put my little boy on the line.

So I say nothing, while Luca waits.

Three seconds. Five. Ten.

Then he pulls the trigger.

The sound comes as a wet crack as Mr. Morrison drops with blood pooling around his head. His slippers still on his feet.

I don't scream this time, just kneel there, frozen. My ears ringing and my heart like a dead thing in my chest.

Luca stares at the body, then the gun, before turning to me.

"That's on you." He whispers.