Summer’s POV

“P-please… just let me go.”

“We love playing with new comers like you, pretty.” One of them smirked.

My voice shook. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling, I knew I was about to cry but I couldn’t

risk it. The street felt too quiet, I could hear my heart beat with each passing second.

The person in front of me didn’t answer. They just yanked harder.

My bag slipped off my shoulder. I tried to grab it back…dumb move.

They shoved me aside. My knee hit the ground and it scraped. It stung, but adrenaline was

louder than pain.

“I don’t have anything!” I said. Which was a lie. My whole life was in that bag. My laptop,

my notes and most especially what brought me here.

They didn’t care. One second they were there.

Next second, they were gone running and laughing into the dark.

I just stood there. Breathing so hard it hurts, I walked towards the street lamp and stood there.

Cars passed, people walked and nobody looked twice. Like this was normal.

I sat on the bench and stared at the empty space where my bag used to be.

Great. Just great. My chest felt heavy. My head kept replaying it, like a bad movie stuck in a

loop.

I tried praying cause I noticed that crying wasn't going to help me. The locals just walked

past me, not even a glance was given.

Minutes crawled by, maybe ten, maybe twenty and I lost count.

Then I heard a soft thud beside me.

I jumped.

My bag was on the ground and my laptop was on the bench.

I looked up fast. A guy stood there dressed in a hoodie and he didn’t say anything nor did he

look like he was rushing.

He didn’t smile, didn't explain, didn't even wait for a “thank you.”Just one weird, unreadable look.

Then he walked away like he hadn’t just saved my life.

A day earlier

My flight to Paris was booked.

Finally, I was leaving Italy, this little town and all their little gossip. Especially aunties who

acted like my life was their favorite TV show.

I could already picture the airplane window, clouds looking like cotton candy. New city and a

fresh new start.

“Mum, I’m going for a walk,” I said.

She didn’t answer. She just hummed and kept on cooking.

Whatever. I grabbed my hoodie and stepped outside.

The street was quiet. A dog barked somewhere and a kid rode past on a bike. Although I

loved the normal things of this town I needed to leave.

I turned the corner and almost crashed straight into someone.

“Sorry!” I said.

The guy barely looked at me. He kept walking fast, like he was late for something important.

Tall. Dark jacket. Head down.

Then a piece of paper slipped from his pocket and floated to the ground.

“Hey!!!” I called.

He didn’t hear me. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. In two seconds, he was gone.

I picked up the paper.

No name. No number. Nothing fancy.

Just one word in bold letters:

Sicily.

And under it… my dad’s name.

My stomach dropped.Why would some random guy be carrying a paper with Sicily… and my father’s name on it?

I looked around, hoping he’d come back. He didn’t.

So I stood there on the sidewalk, holding that paper like it was burning my fingers and I read

it again.

Sicily.

My dad’s name.

And suddenly, Paris didn’t feel so simple anymore.

I never knew who my father was. My mother always said he was dead but this didn’t suggest

or show like this man was dead.

I did what any dumb person would do. I ran back home, straight to my room and cancelled

my flight for Paris and booked one to Sicily.

It was impulsive but what were the odds that I’ll find my father in Sicily.

I barely slept.

The next day, I was at the airport with a backpack and too many questions.

First plane then the clouds and finally silence. A long flight where my mind refused to chill.

By the time we landed in Sicily, it was night. The air felt heavier somehow.

Different and a little scary.

I pulled my bag closer and walked outside.

Streetlights buzzed. A taxi passed and splashed water near my shoes.

I checked the map on my phone.

“Okay… the hotel is just ten minutes,” I muttered.

Footsteps.

I didn’t turn at first. Then I heard more.

“Hey,” someone said behind me. “Girl. Wait.”

“I’m fine,” I replied, trying to sound brave.

Another voice laughed. “You sure?”My heart dropped.

Three of them. Maybe four. I couldn’t count right. Everything blurred.

“Please,” I said, backing up. “I don’t want trouble.”

One of them grabbed my bag.

“Stop!” I pulled back, panic rising. “That’s mine!”

“Relax,” he said, too close. “We just wanna talk.”

“No, please.” My voice cracked.

Someone yanked harder. I stumbled. My bag slipped.

Another hand brushed my arm, way too rough, way too intentional.

“Don’t scream,” one of them warned.

My chest burned. I felt tiny. Trapped.

“Please let me go,” I whispered. “Please.”

Then a car drove past fast headlights blasting the street.

They froze for half a second.

“Forget it,” one muttered.

And just like that, they ran. Gone.

I dropped to the ground, shaking. The streetlight above me flickered too.

I sat there, hugging myself, trying not to cry.

“Great,” I whispered. “First night in Sicily and I already hate it.”

A cat hissed somewhere. A door slammed. The world kept moving like nothing happened.

I stayed under that broken light, staring at the empty street, feeling small and alone.

Back to the present.

I looked at the guy who was already walking away. Under the dim light I noticed he had a

D.S initial on his wrist and I took note of that.

I grabbed my bags immediately and looked for the hotel I was meant to stay in but he

lingered on my mind for a while.“Good evening…” I noticed she cocked her brows. I read her name tag and saw she was

Spanish.

“Uh lo siento.”

“I speak English. I wanted you to get straight to the point.” I just nodded and brought out my

phone to show her the reservation.

“Room 315. 3rd floor.” She handed my phone back to me.

Before I left the reception I noticed some men in suits scattered around and they were subtly

looking at me.

I got to my room and I froze.

“Who are you?”