Chapter 254
KATYA POV
Soone was calling my na. Not loudly. Not urgently. Just enough to slip into the edge of my sleep and tug.
"Miss... Miss?"
I stirred, brow creasing as the weight of sleep resisted . My body felt heavy, warm, wrapped in sothing that slled faintly of clean fabric and recycled air.
The gentle pressure on my arm returned and I blinked. Lights. Soft and dimd. A narrow ceiling curving overhead. The low, constant hum I’d sohow slept through.
The plane. My eyes focused slowly, lashes fluttering as the world ca into place. A woman stood beside , smiling politely, dressed in crisp navy and white.
An air hostess as nonna had said. Her expression was calm, practiced, kind. "We’ve landed, miss," she said quietly. "Welco to italy"
Italy. The word echoed strangely in my head, like it belonged to soone else’s life.
I shifted in my seat, muscles stiff, neck sore from leaning awkwardly to the side. My blanket slipped down to my lap.
I hadn’t even rembered falling asleep. One mont I’d been staring out at darkness, lights blinking like distant stars, heart racing with the knowledge that I was in the air and now this.
I turned my head instinctively. Nonna was already awake.
She sat a few seats away, posture straight despite the long flight, her silver hair neatly pinned as always.
She was softly smiling at , the kind of smile that said you’re safe without needing words. Relief washed through so fast it made my chest ache.
Another hostess stood beside her, holding Nonna’s walking stick while helping her to her feet with careful patience.
Nonna accepted the help without protest, her movents slow but steady, dignity intact even at thirty thousand feet or whatever height we’d been at.
I swallowed and pushed myself upright, pulse finally settling into sothing human.
Italy. The thought drifted through , unreal and fragile. I’d never been to another country. Never crossed an ocean. Never slept above the clouds and woken up sowhere entirely different.
My fingers curled into the armrest as I took a slow breath. The air slled different here—still filtered, still artificial, but touched with sothing new.
Or maybe that was just my imagination filling in the blanks. The hostess nodded once more when she saw I was awake. "Take your ti," she said gently before moving on.
I watched her go, then looked back at Nonna. "There you are," she said, her voice light, eyes bright. "I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the entire arrival."
I huffed out a weak breath that might’ve been a laugh. "I didn’t an to fall asleep."
"You needed it," she replied simply. She was right. I could feel it now, the difference. The way my thoughts were slower, less frantic.
The constant tightness in my chest had loosened, just a little, like a knot that had been worked at long enough to finally give.
I stood carefully, legs protesting as blood rushed back into them. The plane felt smaller now that we were awake, narrower sohow. Or maybe I was just more aware of my body again.
I fell into step behind Nonna as the aisle began to move, slow and careful. She leaned lightly on her walking stick, each step unhurried, as if ti itself would wait for her if she asked it to.
I stayed close. Close enough to catch her if she stumbled. Close enough to remind myself she was real.
The cabin door stood open ahead, light spilling in from outside, brighter than the dim calm we’d woken from.
The air shifted as we crossed the threshold, warr, carrying sothing unfamiliar beneath the scent of fuel and tal.
The mont Nonna stepped through the door, my breath hitched. people were waiting.
Nearly twenty people stood lined on either side of the steps leading down from the plane. n, mostly.
A few won. All dressed in dark suits and tailored coats despite the hour. Their posture was rigid, precise—heads bowed in unison the instant Nonna appeared.
A murmur rose together, Italian words spilled from their mouths in synchronized respect—phrases I didn’t understand, but didn’t need to.
The tone carried everything. Deference. Loyalty. Sothing old and deeply rooted. I froze at the top of the steps.
Nonna paused. Just for a second. Her hand tightened around the walking stick, and then—slowly—she lifted her chin.
She didn’t straighten fully. Her body was still aged, still fragile in places. But sothing else stepped forward in her posture. Sothing steel-lined and unyielding. She acknowledged them with a small nod. Nothing more.
It was enough.
They remained bowed until she began her descent. One step. Then another. The night air wrapped around us, cool against my skin, carrying the distant hum of engines and voices beyond the private strip.
I followed, heart pounding so hard I felt it in my throat. This was the sa woman who had held my hand in the car. Who had smiled gently at across the aisle. Who had told I was safe.
And yet here, under the open Italian sky, surrounded by people who looked at her like she was history itself, Nonna felt... different.
Larger. Untouchable. As she reached the bottom of the steps, one of the n moved forward imdiately, head still lowered, speaking rapidly in Italian.
Another stepped in on her other side, close but not touching, as if guarding her space by instinct alone.
Nonna answered calmly, briefly. Her voice was soft, but it carried. The words ant nothing to —but the way they listened did.
Every eye shifted to then. Not hostile. Not curious. Assessing.
I resisted the urge to fold into myself, praying to the heavens above that I didn’t trade one prison for another but having nonna by side, I knew I was safe so Instead, I straightened, fingers curling at my sides as I stepped onto the tarmac behind her.
The ground felt solid beneath my feet. Nonna glanced back at , her gaze softening. "Co, tesoro," she said gently, the familiar warmth returning.
I followed her toward a waiting car. It was sleek and black, polished to a mirror shine, the kind of vehicle that didn’t need to announce its importance because everything about it already did.
One of the n opened the back door imdiately. Another was already positioned on the other side, watching the periter with quiet vigilance.
Nonna eased inside first, settling into the seat with practiced familiarity. I slid in beside her, the leather cool beneath my palms.
The door shut with a soft, solid thud that felt final in a different way than Roo’s house had.....this one didn’t close things off. It carried us forward.
The engine purred to life. As we pulled away, I noticed the movent around us. One car slid in smoothly ahead, another behind. Then two more.
A quiet formation. Protective, but not suffocating. An escort. I leaned back slightly, eyes drawn to the window as the private airstrip faded behind us.
The road opened up, and with it.....Italy.
People were everywhere, walking in small groups, laughing, talking loudly with hands that moved as much as their voices did.
Children darted across a small plaza, chasing each other with wild laughter, their shoes slapping against the pavent.
A woman leaned out of a balcony above them, calling sothing down in Italian that made the kids groan and scatter.
Further on, the road curved and the sea appeared. I sucked in a quiet breath. The beach stretched alongside the road, pale sand glowing faintly under moonlight.
Couples walked barefoot near the waterline. A group of young n sat on the hood of a car, music playing softly, bottles clinking as they laughed.
Girls in loose dresses walked past them, hair lifted by the breeze, laughter carried on the salt air. It was loud in a way that felt alive.
Not chaotic. Not dangerous.
Alive.
This place didn’t hide behind trees or iron silence. It breathed. It welcod noise and movent and people existing openly, without fear of being seen.
Life, happening without fear.
I pressed my forehead lightly against the glass, afraid that if I blinked too long it would vanish. The contrast was dizzying. Roo’s world had been shadows and trees and heavy gates ant to keep things in—or out.
I glanced at Nonna, grateful that she was with . She watched the world pass with a faint, knowing smile, her hand resting calmly over the carved handle of her walking stick.
This wasn’t unfamiliar territory to her. This was mory. History.
Ho.
The car turned again, climbing slightly, the buildings thinning as we moved away from the coast. The streets grew wider, cleaner, then—iron.
A massive gate rose ahead of us, tall and black tal twisted into elegant designs rather than sharp warnings.
The convoy slowed in perfect unison. The gates opened without pause and we passed through.
Every car rolled to a stop inside, engines humming low and respectful. My breath caught. Even from inside the car, I could see it.
The estate stretched out before us. Stone pathways curved through lush gardens. Fountains glimred softly, water catching the light as it danced.
Windows glowed from the main house, laughter and movent visible behind glass.
People moved along the paths. Voices carried. Sowhere, music played faintly—soft, classical, threading through the place like a promise.
I stared, stunned. This place wasn’t hidden away from the world. It stood within it. Nonna rested her hand over mine.
"Benvenuta," she said softly.
Welco.
††
Italy baby!
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