Carmen’s hands shook as she held out the small note to Marco.
“Read it,” she whispered, her voice unsteady.
Marco took the paper from her fingers, his dark eyes narrowing as he scanned the words written in Matteo’s messy handwriting.
“She’s still here.”
Marco exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face.
“Carmen—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she snapped, her heart pounding. “This isn’t normal, Marco. He’s talking to someone that isn’t there! He’s writing things like—like she’s still here! Ella is still in his head!”
Marco sighed, setting the note down on his desk.
“We’ll figure it out together, okay?” he said. “He’s been through hell, Carmen. Maybe this is his way of coping with it.”
Carmen’s stomach twisted.
“You think this is coping?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Marco, he’s not the same. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t blink. He just—he just smiles like nothing is wrong. You didn’t see him last night! He was just standing there, staring at me like—like he wasn’t even our son anymore!”
Marco clenched his jaw.
“He is our son,” he said firmly. “And he’s been manipulated for weeks. We can’t expect him to just be okay overnight.”
Carmen wanted to believe him.
Wanted to believe that Matteo was just struggling, adjusting, healing.
But in her gut, she knew better.
Then—
The door to Marco’s office burst open. Luca stormed in, his expression dark, unreadable. “We need to talk,” he said.
Marco sighed. “Not now, Luca—”
“Yes, now,” Luca cut in, his voice dead serious. Carmen turned to him, her pulse racing. “Did you find something?” she asked. Luca hesitated.
And then he said it.
“I think Matteo is dangerous.”
Carmen’s breath hitched. Marco’s entire body went rigid. “Excuse me?” Marco’s voice was dangerously low.
Luca met his glare without flinching.
“Marco, listen to me,” he said. “Something is wrong with that kid. He’s not the same. You know it, I know it, and Carmen damn well knows it.”
Marco’s hands curled into fists.
“He is a child.”
“Is he?” Luca shot back. “Because he doesn’t act like one anymore.”
Carmen swallowed hard, her throat dry.
“What are you saying, Luca?” she asked quietly.
Luca exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.
“I’m saying we need to get him out of the house.”
“No,” Marco said immediately.
Luca didn’t back down.
“Marco—”
“No,” Marco repeated, his voice sharp. “That is my son. I am not throwing him away just because he’s been traumatized!”
“I’m not saying throw him away,” Luca growled. “I’m saying we don’t know what the hell Ella did to him, and we need to stop pretending like this is normal!”
Silence. Tense. Suffocating. Marco’s hands were shaking. He turned to Carmen.
“You agree with this?” he asked, his voice low. Carmen’s throat tightened. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
Marco exhaled sharply, his frustration clear.
“I’ll talk to him,” he finally said. “I’ll sit him down and ask him myself.”
Luca scoffed. “Yeah? And what if he lies?”
Marco’s eyes darkened. “Then I’ll know.”
That night, Carmen had trouble sleeping. Her body was exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t rest. She tossed. Turned. Felt her skin prickle with unease.
Something wasn’t right.
And then—
She woke up. A soft rustling sound. Barely there. Her eyelids fluttered open, her vision adjusting to the darkness.
And that’s when she saw it. Matteo. Standing beside her bed.
Holding a knife.