The screen lit up, and Alessia forgot how to breathe. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Nico's face filled the frame, slightly pixelated, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Behind him, the cracked wall of their apartment, the edge of the damaged piano. He wore the gray sweater she had mended last month. Signora Esposito stood by the door.
"Fifteen minutes," Signora Esposito said. "Monitored."
"Alessia!" Nico's smile cracked something open in her chest. Her eyes burned. She blinked hard.
"Nico." Her voice held. "How are you? Are you taking your medication?" she asked.
"Yes. Signora Greco made soup. Too salty," Nico replied.
Alessia laughed. The sound surprised her, rusty and raw. "She always adds too much."
Nico's smile faded. "Signora Greco said some men came by the apartment. They asked about you. She told them you were working in Milan."
Her blood went cold. "What did you tell them?" she asked.
"Nothing. I did not talk to them. Signora Greco handled it." He paused. "Alessia, are you in trouble?"
"No. The family I work for is very private. They probably just wanted references." The lie came easily. She had been telling them for years. But her stomach twisted with each word.
He did not look convinced. But he nodded. "Okay. Just be careful, okay?" he said.
"I will. I promise." She leaned closer. "I am proud of you. You know that, right?"
"I know." He paused. "When are you coming home?"
The question hit like a blow. She kept her face steady, but her chest ached. "Soon. The job is temporary. A few more weeks, maybe," she said.
"Oh." He tried to hide his disappointment. "I will keep practicing. When you come back, I will play the Chopin for you."
"I would like that." Her throat was tight. "Nico, if anything happens, if you need anything, you go to Signora Greco. Promise me."
"I promise." His brow furrowed. "Is everything okay?"
"Fine. I just worry." She forced a smile. "That is my job."
"I love you, Alessia," Nico said.
"I love you too. Come home soon," she replied.
The screen went dark. Alessia stared at it, her heart pounding. Enzo's men had been to the apartment. They had questioned Renata. They were watching Nico. He was not just her anchor. He was her leash.
Signora Esposito stepped forward. "The next call will be in one week. Same time," she said.
Alessia walked back to her room and pressed her palms to her eyes. She would not cry. But her breath came shallow. Nico was safe for now. But she had seen the bloodstain. She had to remain useful.
She lowered her hands. The flour was still there. The blood was gone from her knees, but she remembered exactly where it had been. She went to the wardrobe and pressed the loose panel. She had found a scrap of paper and a pen. She had nothing to hide yet. But she would.
She reviewed what she had learned. Guard response time. Service corridors. Signora Esposito reported directly to Enzo. The staff had been instructed not to speak to her. Enzo's men were watching Nico. The calls were audio only. She could use code. References only Nico would understand.
She closed her eyes and began to plan. As she did, the lock clicked from the outside. She had not been locked in during the day before. Tonight, she was. The sound sent a shiver down her spine—not just fear, but the slow, treacherous realization that she was already adapting to the cage. And worse, a part of her wondered what it would feel like when the bars stopped feeling like punishment. But before sleep could claim her, another thought surfaced, colder and more disruptive: she had assumed the calls were monitored only for audio. What if she was wrong? What if they were watching, too? The possibility lodged itself in her mind, refusing to dislodge. She had already made her first miscalculation. And somewhere in the villa, Enzo was watching the footage of her pressing her palm to the mirror.