**Stefano’s POV **

I hit the doorframe on my way in, the pain barely registering. Martina was in the living room, a nervous wreck, her fingers twisting her apron. As soon as she saw me, she rushed over. “She won’t open the door, Stefano,” she whispered, her eyes wide with worry. “She said she isn’t hungry. She wouldn’t let me in.”

My chest felt constricted. “Which door?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Elena’s.”

“I’ll handle it.” I didn’t wait for her ...