chapter 12

The knock at my door was sharp, insistent. I sighed, already exhausted by the day, and called out, "Come in."

Marco peeked in, his expression unreadable, but there was something hesitant in the way he stepped inside, like he was choosing his words carefully before even speaking.

"Can I have a word with you?" he asked.

I gestured for him to speak, keeping my face blank. I had already dealt with enough for one morning.

"Look," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "I just wanted to say... ignore Leonardo."

I met his gaze, waiting for him to continue.

"He doesn't mean half the shit he says. Ever since you—" Marco hesitated, as if unsure how to phrase it. "Since what happened, he's been different. He doesn’t know how to deal with it, so he lashes out."

Something cold crept into my chest, curling around my ribs like a vice.

"And that has what to do with me?" My voice was steady, empty.

Marco let out a humorless chuckle. "Everything, Isabella. He doesn’t hate you, you know? He just doesn’t know how to handle the fact that you were taken and we couldn’t do anything about it. That eats at him every day. And now that you're back, he's acting like a jackass because he doesn't know how else to deal with it."

I held his gaze, searching for any hint of insincerity, but the doubt was already creeping in. It always did.

So that was it? Leonardo wasn’t actually the problem—I was. I was the disruption, the reminder of their failure, the reason things were different now.

Not once did Marco say that they were glad I was back. Not once did he say I was wanted here.

Just that Leonardo didn’t hate me.

Not that he cared. Not that he was happy I was safe.

Just that my presence was inconvenient to him.

I pressed my lips together, the words settling in my chest like a weight.

"Noted," I said simply, keeping my tone carefully neutral.

Marco exhaled sharply, like he expected more from me—anger, maybe, or relief. But I wasn’t going to give him that.

"Just... don't let him get to you," he added, as if that made any of this better.

I said nothing, looking back down at my phone as if dismissing him.

After a moment, I heard him sigh before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stared at the screen, but my mind was elsewhere, replaying his words over and over again.

They don’t hate you.

But that didn’t mean they wanted me here.

The silence in my room was suffocating. Even as I stared at my phone, my mind was somewhere else, replaying Marco’s words.

They don’t hate you.

But did they want me here?

A bitter laugh nearly slipped past my lips. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it? That after everything, after being taken, after barely making it out, I’d return just to feel like a stranger in my own home.

My phone vibrated, dragging me back to the present.

Ryan: "Are you still alive, or should I start planning a funeral?"

Diego: "If she were dead, we'd know. It'd be all over the news."

Ryan: "You overestimate the Italian government’s efficiency."

I rolled my eyes, typing back quickly.

Me: "Still breathing. Unfortunately for you."

Ryan responded instantly.

Ryan: "Damn. Lost another bet."

Before I could reply, another knock came at my door. My patience was running dangerously thin.

"What now?" I called out, my voice flat.

The door opened just enough for Leonardo to step inside. The sight of him sent a spike of irritation through me. If Marco had come to defend him, I wasn’t in the mood to hear what he had to say for himself.

"What do you want?" I asked, voice cold.

Leonardo hesitated. That alone made me pause. He wasn’t the type to hold back, not with me. Normally, he had something snide locked and loaded, but right now? He looked... unsure.

Finally, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "You really have no idea, do you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You’ll have to be more specific."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Of course you don’t."

There was something off about his tone. It wasn’t his usual arrogance—it was frustration, but not directed at me. Or maybe it was, but not in the way I was used to.

"You walk in here like nothing happened," he continued, his jaw clenching, "like everything is the same. But it’s not. Nothing is the same, Isabella."

I stared at him, waiting for him to get to the point.

"You disappeared. One second you were here, the next—gone. And we couldn’t do anything. Do you know what that was like?" His voice was sharp, but beneath it, I caught something else. Something raw.

I tilted my head. "And whose fault is that?"

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t snap back like I expected. Instead, he let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.

"You don’t get it," he muttered, almost to himself. "You really don’t."

Something inside me twisted, but I refused to acknowledge it. Whatever he was dealing with, whatever guilt or frustration he had—I wasn’t about to comfort him for it.

"You done?" I asked, voice devoid of emotion.

Leonardo stared at me, like he was trying to figure something out. Like he wanted to say something but knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

"Forget it," he muttered, pushing off the doorframe. "Just... never mind."

He turned and left without another word.

I exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of my palms against my eyes.

I didn’t know what I expected, but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

The air outside was crisp, a stark contrast to the suffocating weight pressing on my chest. The balcony was the only place that felt remotely mine anymore—away from the hushed whispers, the heavy stares, the tension that clung to every room I entered.

I leaned against the railing, gripping the cold metal, letting it ground me. The city stretched out below, lights flickering in the distance, the hum of life continuing as if nothing had changed. As if I hadn’t changed.

I reached into my pocket, pulling out a joint and a lighter. The familiar routine brought a small sense of comfort. The flame flickered, catching the tip of the paper, and I inhaled deeply. The smoke curled around me, seeping into my lungs, dulling the edges of my thoughts. The tension in my shoulders loosened, just a little.

Then the door behind me slammed shut.

I stiffened.

The lock clicked into place.

My stomach dropped.

It was like a switch had been flipped. The air became too thick, the walls of the balcony pressing in, the metal beneath my fingers no longer grounding but trapping me.

No way out. No way out. No way out.

For a split second, I wasn’t here.

I was somewhere else. Somewhere dark. The cold against my skin wasn’t metal—it was a floor. The weight wasn’t my own—it was someone else’s. The lock, the sound, the finality of it—

A scream clawed at my throat, but I swallowed it down. My fingers dug into the railing, my body rigid as I forced myself back into reality.

Not there. Here. Not then. Now.

I turned slowly, carefully schooling my features into indifference, locking away the panic rising inside me.

Leonardo stood in front of the door, arms crossed, watching me. He didn’t seem to notice the way my fingers trembled slightly before I hid them in the sleeves of my sweater.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, my voice perfectly steady.

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, his brows drawn together like he was fighting an internal battle. Then, with a sharp exhale, he spoke.

“I missed you.”

I blinked. Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

I stayed silent, unsure where he was going with this.

He shifted uncomfortably, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to meet my gaze again. “I know I don’t say shit like that. I know I’m—” He let out a frustrated breath. “I’m not good with this. With emotions, with... whatever this is supposed to be.”

I tilted my head slightly, studying him. “So, locking me on a balcony was your way of showing you care?” My tone was dry, unimpressed.

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t thinking, alright? I just—” He huffed. “You’ve been avoiding everyone. Avoiding me.”

I stared at him, unblinking. “Maybe I have a reason.”

His expression flickered, just for a moment, before he covered it with his usual mask of irritation. “I get that, okay? But don’t act like you’re the only one who’s dealing with shit.”

I didn’t respond. What was I supposed to say to that? That I knew? That I understood? That I felt like a stranger in my own skin, in my own home?

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Whatever. Forget it.”

A beat of silence passed between us. He turned to unlock the door, but hesitated, glancing at me again.

“You wanna watch a movie?” The question was so out of place, so unlike him, that for a second, I thought I misheard.

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you asking or demanding?”

Leonardo rolled his eyes. “Take it however you want, but I’m not watching it alone.”

I considered him for a moment. The tension in my chest hadn’t fully faded, the ghost of old memories still clinging to me like smoke. But here, now, Leonardo was standing in front of me—awkward, uncertain, trying in the only way he knew how.

Finally, I shrugged. “Fine.”

He didn’t smile, but something in his posture relaxed. Without another word, he unlocked the door and stepped aside, waiting for me to follow.

I did. But even as I walked past him, the phantom of locked doors and lost control lingered at the edges of my mind.

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