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The drive is shorter than I expected. I didn’t realize how close Alessio’s parents live to him, not that I ever really thought about it. We pull up to what looks like a smaller, yet still massive, version of the White House, complete with looming security at the gates.

Alessio stops at the gate, and an armed guard approaches us. He rolls down his window, and they let him through without asking any questions.

We park out front, and I’m half expecting a valet to open my door. We step out of the car, a petite woman, maybe 5’3” with the same sandy-brown hair as Alessio, walks out the door and onto the porch, smiling like she’s been waiting for this moment her whole life.

We meet her at the door.

“Oh, Alessandro, I’m so glad you brought your fiancée,” she gushes, walking straight to him and pulling him into a hug. I glance at Alessio, watching his massive frame practically swallow hers. There’s a softness in his expression, something he doesn’t show often.

“Hi, Mom.” He hugs her tighter before pulling back. “How was your trip?”

“Very good, dear.” She turns to me with a warm smile. “And you must be Olivia. I’m Stella. It’s so nice to meet you.” Stella sounds sweet, like she’s been waiting for this exact moment and somehow already decided to like me. Or maybe she’s just really good at pretending. Either way, I nod, forcing a polite smile even though my stomach’s doing flips.

I nod again like an idiot, suddenly unsure of how to act. I’ve never done the wholemeeting-the-parentsthing before. “It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand to shake hers.

She laughs lightly, waving off my handshake like it’s ridiculous before pulling me into a hug. And not just any hug, a mom hug. Tight, warm, and the kind that makes you feel like you belong somewhere. The kind I haven’t had in way too long.

My eyes sting as I hug her back, matching her embrace. There’s something so familiar about it, something I didn’t even realize I’d been missing until now.

When his sisters, Lexi, fifteen, and Aly, twenty-nine, come out, they’re just as welcoming, both hugging me.It throws me off for a second; I’m not used to such warm welcomes. Growing up, it was always just Clover andme. There were no big family dinners, no warm greetings, and definitely no sister hugs. This kind of easy affection feels foreign, but not in a bad way, just new.

Alessio excuses himself to get his dad, leaving me alone with his mom and sisters.

We make our way inside and into the living room, which is as grand as I expected from the outside. The walls are a soft, neutral shade, accented with gold-trimmed molding. A massive chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Plush leather sofas surround a marble coffee table, and the built-in bookshelves are filled with hardcovers, each one perfectly arranged and not a single spine out of place. It looks straight out of a magazine, luxurious but still inviting.

We all sit on the couches, and they’re chatty, making conversation so effortlessly that within minutes, it feels like they’ve known me forever. It’s surreal having them include me so easily, like I belong here.

Then Alessio walks back in, his dad at his side.

“Alessandro, my love,” his mom says with a smile. “I’d like to introduce you to Olivia.”

My stomach twists as his dad walks over, his eyes locked on me. Same sharp blue as Alessio’s, he’s the seasoned version of him with salt and pepper hair, fewertattoos, but there’s ink on his arms where his sleeves are rolled up.

But it’s not just his looks that throw me off. It’s how he’s looking at me, like he knows me, or has seen me before.

“It’s been a while, Olivia,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand.

I extend mine without thinking, until I see the knife. Not in his hand, but on his forearm. Inked into his skin. It’s buried under more ink, but now that I’m staring at it up close, there’s no mistaking the shape. It looks exactly like Ruby’s demon-killing knife, and my whole body locks up.

I know him and I know that fucking tattoo.

My fingers tighten around his hand, my other gripping his wrist, pulling his arm toward me to get a better look at it. I will never forget this tattoo. I dreamed of it so many nights and never thought I’d see it again in person.

My pulse is hammering so loud I swear the whole damn room can hear it. Everyone is staring at me, or maybe him, but it’s probably at the death grip I have on his arm, like I’m afraid to let go. Like I’m afraidof what’ll happen if I do.

“You know each other?” Alessio asks, stepping in front of us, his eyes darting between me and his father, then to my iron grip on the man’s arm.

I don’t answer Alessio, I can’t. Because I’m too busy staring at this man’s arm like it holds all the answers to my fucked-up life. Like, maybe if I stare hard enough, it’ll make sense.

“You’re him,” I say, more to myself than him, looking back and forth from his tattoo to his face.

His expression doesn’t change. He gives me nothing except a slow nod, like this is just another family dinner.

“I’m him.”

My chest tightens, and I force myself to look away from the tattoo. I stare at his face, but my brain is still buffering, still trying to piece this together.

The man standing in front of me is Alessio’s father, one of the last people I saw before my whole life got flipped upside down.