Aurora

The bell above the door chimes softly as I step into the café the next morning. The familiar aroma of roasted coffee beans wraps around me like a comforting blanket. Anna and Max are already here, setting up the pastries and humming along to the soft jazz tune playing in the background. They smile when they see me, but I can’t bring myself to smile back.

I pour myself a cup of cappuccino and settle by the window. The cup is warm between my hands, but it does little to settle the chill that’s settled inside my chest since last night.

My mind is a mess.

I keep replaying what happened at the club—how fast it all spiraled, how that man touched me, and how he appeared out of nowhere. The way he looked at me, the way he held me after… no one’s ever done that. Protected me like that.

But what haunts me more is the presence of those mafia men in this town. This peaceful, quiet place I’ve built for myself. I’m terrified—not for me, but for everyone else. For Sofia. For Giovanni. Even for Anna and Max. They don’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire of whatever I left behind.

Still, something doesn’t make sense.

That man ‘the mafia boss’ he can’t be the one my stepbrother handed me over to. That man was supposed to be a monster. A cold, calculating brute who’d chain me to a marriage for a business deal. Someone who would’ve had me killed for running.

But this man… he didn’t hurt me. He was gentle. Protective. Even kind.

Why would he be nice to me?

No. It can’t be him. I can’t afford to believe it is.

I take a deep breath, sip my cappuccino, and glance out the window as the town wakes up around me. For now, I’m still Aurora. And I still have my life here. But I need to stay alert. The past has found me once and it can find me again.

And next time, I might not be so lucky.

My phone rings.

I glance at the screen—an unknown number. I hesitate for a second before answering.

“Hello, this is the owner of Morning Ember café.”

A moment of silence. Then a voice—professional, quiet.

“Hello, I’m calling from the clinic. Ms. Valeria Rizzoto has been in an accident. Her condition is… quite serious.”

I freeze.

My heart plummets.

Mom.

The word echoes in my chest like a distant memory, like something that used to mean safety before it became tangled in fear and betrayal.

I grip the counter to steady myself, my voice barely a whisper. “What… what happened?”

“She was in a car crash. She’s in critical condition. We thought it best to inform her next of kin.”

Next of kin. They called me.

But how did they get my number?

My blood runs cold.

They knew. Someone knew I was here all along. Someone knew I was hiding in this quiet little town, in my quiet little café, living a life that wasn’t supposed to be mine.

And they said nothing.

Until now.

But who? And why now?

I hang up slowly, heart racing, thoughts spiraling.

I have to go back. Back to New York. Back to the place I swore I’d never return to.

But this time… I won’t be the same girl who ran away.

***

The silence in my apartment feels heavier than usual.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the open suitcase. I haven’t packed yet. I don’t even know what to take. My hands are trembling, my mind still racing from the phone call.

New York.

I said I’d never go back. I buried that part of my life so deep it barely felt real anymore. But now… I have no choice. She’s my mother, even if she stopped being my protector the moment she chose him.

I walk over to the closet and pull out a few clothes—plain, simple, layers I can blend in with. No flashy colors. Nothing that could draw attention.

I zip up the suitcase halfway before pausing.

I crouch down beside the floorboard and carefully lift the loose plank. My fingers tremble as I pull out a small box wrapped in an old T-shirt.

Inside: my real ID, passport, a few hidden papers, and the photo of me and my dad when I was a little girl—before chaos took everything.

I stare at the ID. My real name staring back at me. I haven’t seen it in so long it almost feels like someone else’s identity.

Valeria Rizzoto.

No. Not anymore. I’m Aurora now. But New York won’t know her.

I tuck the ID back into the box and set it inside my suitcase. Just in case.

I take one last look around my apartment—the warm pink walls, the small kitchen, the sofa with the old throw blanket. This place became home. Morning Ember became my peace. Anna, Max, Sophia, Giovanni… they became mine.

And now I’m walking away. Temporarily, I hope.

I grab my phone and text Sophia.

“I have to go away for a while. Family emergency. Please look after the café.”

She replies almost immediately.

“Are you okay?? Do you want me to come over?”

I don’t answer.

Not because I don’t want her to come. But because I know if she does, I might not leave.

I take a deep breath, zip the suitcase, and stand tall. I’m not the girl who was forced into a dress and handed over like property anymore.

This time, I’m walking in on my own terms.

***

I book a taxi without thinking twice, my fingers numb as I confirm the ride. The streets blur past the window as I stare outside, my heart thudding like a warning drum. One hour and thirty minutes later, I’m standing in the heart of New York—the city I swore I’d never set foot in again.

It’s loud. Ruthless. Unforgiving. Nothing has changed.

The cold air hits me harder than expected as I step out of the terminal, dragging my suitcase behind me. I arrange for a rental car—something small and forgettable—and waste no time getting behind the wheel. My hands shake as I turn the ignition. I don’t even bother putting on music. I just drive, my mind full of static, my chest tight.

The city swallows me whole the moment I merge onto the main road. Yellow cabs dart past. People rush on sidewalks. Honking. Sirens. Screaming headlines on LED signs. It’s chaos, but the kind of chaos I grew up in. The kind that raised me before it tried to destroy me.

The clinic isn’t far. I park the car hastily and jog through the entrance. The cold sterility of the hospital greets me with harsh fluorescent lights and the sharp sting of antiseptic.

I walk up to the front desk. My voice cracks when I speak.

“I’m here for Valeria Rizzoto. She was brought in recently. I’m her daughter.”

The nurse looks up, startled for a second—maybe because of my name, maybe because someone with this face shouldn’t be tied to the Rizzotos.

She nods and points toward the elevator.

“Room 403. Fourth floor. She’s stable for now.”

For now.

The elevator ride feels endless.

I grip the metal bar inside the elevator and stare at my reflection in the shiny surface. My makeup has worn off. My eyes are tired. I look like a ghost of the girl who used to live in Morning Ember.

But I’m not here as Aurora.

Not tonight.

Tonight I’m the daughter of a woman who stayed silent when the world turned against me. The girl who was sold off like a favor owed.

But I’m also the woman who came back.

I push open the door to room 403.

The air is still, almost too still. The rhythmic beeping of machines is the only sign of life. The room smells like bleach and quiet suffering. I step inside slowly, my footsteps soft against the tiled floor.

She’s there.

My mother.

Valeria Rizzoto.

She lies on the hospital bed, pale against the stiff white sheets, her once perfectly styled hair now limp and graying at the temples. There’s a bruise on her cheek, a bandage across her forehead, and an IV dripping into her frail arm. I pause at the foot of the bed, unsure what emotion should surface first—anger, guilt, grief?

Her eyes flutter open. For a moment, confusion clouds her expression. Then her gaze sharpens, and she whispers in disbelief:

“Sienna...”

The sound of my name—my real name—spoken after so long, sends a jolt through me. I swallow the lump in my throat.

“It’s me,” I say, barely above a whisper.

She tries to sit up, but winces. “They said you were gone. That you vanished. Luca—he told everyone...”

“Luca sold me,” I cut in sharply. “Like property. Like I was part of a deal.”

Her eyes fill with tears. She looks older now, worn out by years of silence and the consequences of her choices. “I didn’t know... not at first. And when I did—it was too late. I had no power. Your stepfather—”

“Was never my father,” I snap.

The machines beep steadily, almost mockingly calm compared to the storm inside me. She reaches out a hand, but I don’t move. I can’t.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, eyes trembling with tears. “I was scared.”

“Scared enough to stay. Scared enough to let them ruin me.” I shake my head and force myself to calm down. “I didn’t come for closure, Mom. I came because someone made sure I knew you were here. And I need to know why now?”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Someone from here has known where I’ve been this whole time,” I say. “I got the call from this clinic. They used my new name. No one was supposed to know.”

Her lips part, but she doesn't answer. A flicker of something unreadable flashes in her eyes.

I take a deep breath. “Rest. I’ll stay a while. But I’m not here to play family again.”

I walk to the chair beside her and sit.

Outside this room, I’m still Aurora. I still have a life that’s mine.

But for now… I wait. Because something tells me this trip back to New York isn't just about a hospital visit.

It’s a warning.

The nurse steps into the waiting room and calls my name softly. I rise, heart pounding, and follow her down the sterile hallway to my mother’s room. She’s unconscious, pale, hooked to machines that beep steadily. I sit down beside her, my fingers clutching the blanket draped over my lap.

Then I hear the door creak open behind me.

“I see running away didn’t keep you away for long,” a deep, cold voice says.

I freeze. I don’t have to turn to recognize the voice.

Mr. Rizzoto.

I stand slowly, my jaw clenched. “You’re the one who gave them my number.”

He smirks, walking into the room like he owns it—like always. “Of course. I’m still your mother’s husband. They asked for an emergency contact. I told them the truth. You’re her daughter. No need to hide anymore.”

“You’ve always twisted the truth,” I hiss. “You gave me away like I was something to trade.”

“You were leverage, girl. And you ran before fulfilling your purpose.” His tone is low, dangerous. “But I never stopped keeping tabs on you. I just chose not to act… until now.”

I stare at him, fury and fear boiling in my veins. “Why now?”

“Because you’re slipping,” he says, tilting his head. “You think you’ve been hiding well, but the moment you started making friends, building a life… you became traceable.”

He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “You’ll meet me tomorrow. Noon. At the warehouse on 23rd and Ashland. Come alone.”

I don’t answer. I just stare at him, breathing hard, while he turns and walks out like nothing’s wrong—like he hasn’t ruined my life.