Emilia lay on the soft, sterile hospital bed, the faint sound of the heart monitor beeping steadily beside her. She felt a quiet exhaustion settle over her, her body still aching from the injuries she had sustained. The dull throb in her arm and ankle was a constant reminder of the explosion, and her head felt heavy with the remnants of the concussion that had kept her unconscious for so long.

The hospital room was small but comforting, with soft lighting and pale blue walls that seemed to help her feel somewhat safe. But nothing made her feel as safe as the presence of her brothers.

Matteo was at her side, his eyes still filled with that look of unyielding concern. He sat next to her, his hand resting gently on hers. His touch was steady, reassuring—something that seemed to ground her in this strange new world she was trying to navigate.

"You're doing well, sweetheart," he whispered softly, his voice like a warm hug. "You're healing, and we're right here."

Emilia's eyes fluttered open, her gaze finding his. The confusion was still there—her mind was foggy from the trauma, and her body didn't quite feel like her own. But the one thing that was clear was the love that filled the room.

Luca was at the foot of her bed, watching over her with a quiet intensity, his hand resting protectively on her leg. Raffaele, the youngest, sat on the edge of her bed, his face scrunched up in worry as he absently brushed a lock of hair away from her face. They were all there—her brothers, the people who had been searching for her, loving her, and taking care of her from the very start.

"Are you feeling okay, Emilia?" Raffaele asked, his voice soft but full of that brotherly warmth she'd grown used to. He called her "sweetheart," but she had yet to fully embrace it, still unsure of how to trust it. She was learning, though—learning to believe that they wanted nothing but the best for her.

She didn't respond right away, her thoughts moving slowly. The silence between them was comfortable, but there was a quiet weight to it—a heavy reminder of how much had happened, how much she had lost, and how much she still needed to heal.

Matteo broke the silence, speaking in his calm, steady voice. "We've been talking, Emilia. We want to take you home but we'll need to make sure you're comfortable. The doctors say you're healing well, but we'll need to take it slow. There's no rush, alright?"

Emilia nodded, feeling the tears welling up behind her eyes, though she didn't understand why. It wasn't sadness, exactly. It was gratitude, an overwhelming flood of emotion that she didn't know how to express. She didn't deserve this kindness, this gentleness—but it was there, and it was real.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft and fragile, like the smallest breeze.

Matteo's thumb brushed gently across the back of her hand. "You don't have to thank us, Emilia. You never have to thank us for taking care of you."

His words settled in her chest like the warmest blanket. The unconditional love in his voice was a balm to the raw, aching parts of her soul that had never known true care.

The door to the room creaked open, and the doctor stepped inside, clipboard in hand. "How is she doing today?" he asked, glancing over at the brothers with a knowing look. He had seen the way they hovered around her, protective and ever-watchful.

"Better," Matteo replied. "She's been resting. But we're still concerned. How are her vitals? Is there any progress on her recovery?"

The doctor nodded. "She's doing well. Her heart rate is stable, and her concussion seems to be healing. The pain from the fractures in her arm and leg should subside in a few days. I'm still concerned about her emotional state, though. The trauma she's been through—"

Luca cut him off, his voice low and serious. "We'll take care of her. We're not letting her go through this alone."

The doctor gave a small smile, recognizing the depth of the bond the brothers shared with Emilia. He knew this wasn't just a physical recovery. She would need time. Time to trust them, time to heal emotionally, time to learn how to live again without fear.

"We'll monitor her progress," the doctor continued. "But for now, just let her rest. Let her know she's safe, and that's the most important thing."

Emilia swallowed, her throat dry, as the reality of her situation began to settle in. She wasn't just recovering from physical injuries; she was healing from years of pain, abuse, and isolation. And these men—her brothers—were going to be the ones to help her do it.

She looked up at them, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "I'm scared," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Matteo leaned in closer, his presence like a fortress around her. "I know, Emilia. But you're safe now. You're home, with us. And we're going to help you every step of the way."

Her heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. She wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him so badly. But there was a part of her that was still afraid—the part of her that had been hurt too many times to count.

Luca's hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking the softness of her skin. "You don't have to do this alone," he said quietly. "We're here, Emilia. Always."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, and for the first time in a long while, she allowed herself to cry. Not out of fear, not out of sadness—but out of the overwhelming relief that she wasn't alone anymore.