POV: Emilia

The day passed in a blur of uneasy calm. I'd spent most of it in my room, avoiding the weight of their stares and the suffocating feeling that came with being under constant watch. I wanted to pretend I was fine—to make them think I was fine. They didn't need to worry about me more than they already did.

But something was wrong.

My arm throbbed under the cast, a dull, relentless ache that hadn't been there before. At first, I thought it was just healing pains, the kind that came and went, but the discomfort had grown sharper, deeper, twisting into something I couldn't ignore.

The skin around the edge of the cast had started to turn red a few days ago, but now it was angry and swollen, the heat radiating from it making me feel sick. I knew it wasn't normal. I knew I should say something.

But I didn't.

I couldn't bring myself to.

They'd already done so much—more than anyone ever had for me. The last thing I wanted was to add to their stress, to make them regret bringing me here.

So, I kept quiet.

The hours crawled by, the pain growing worse with every passing minute. By the time evening fell, I was struggling to move my arm without wincing, the feverish heat making my head spin. I sat on the edge of the bed, clutching my good hand over the bad arm, trying to steady my breathing.

I could hear them downstairs, their voices low and steady as they talked about something I couldn't make out. Part of me wanted to go to them, to ask for help, but the fear of being a burden rooted me in place.

A knock at the door startled me, and I quickly pulled the blanket over my arm, trying to look as normal as possible.

"Emilia?" Matteo's voice came through, soft and warm. "Can I come in, sweetheart?"

I hesitated, panic flaring in my chest. "Y-Yeah," I managed, my voice shaking.

The door opened, and Matteo stepped inside, his usual gentle smile on his face. "Hey," he said, crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed. "We're all heading to the living room for a movie night. Thought you might want to join us."

"I-I'm okay," I said quickly, shaking my head. "You guys go ahead."

He frowned, tilting his head as he studied me. "You sure? It could be fun. You don't even have to watch the movie if you don't want to—just sit with us. No pressure."

"I'm fine," I insisted, my voice sharper than I meant. The guilt hit immediately, and I looked down, my hands twisting in my lap. "Sorry," I muttered.

Matteo's gaze softened, and he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against my shoulder. "Don't apologize, dolcezza. I just wanted to check on you." He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "You look a little pale. Are you feeling okay?"

My heart jumped, and I pulled the blanket tighter around me. "I'm fine," I lied, forcing a small smile. "Just tired."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. Instead, he nodded slowly, standing up and giving me one last look. "Alright. If you need anything, you know where to find me, okay?"

"Okay," I whispered, relief flooding through me as he left the room.

As soon as the door closed, I let out a shaky breath, pulling the blanket away to look at my arm. The redness had spread, the skin hot to the touch and slightly swollen. I bit my lip, trying to fight back the rising panic.

I'd deal with it myself. I had to.

But deep down, I knew it was only a matter of time before they found out.

The pain didn't let up. By the time night fell, I couldn't focus on anything else. My arm felt like it was on fire, each throb making my head spin. The edges of my vision blurred as a dull ache settled into my skull, spreading down my spine like waves of heat.

I curled up under the blanket, trying to will it away, but the fever was taking hold. My skin felt too hot and too cold at the same time, and every breath felt shallow and shaky.

It would be fine. It had to be.

I'd just sleep it off. That's what people did with fevers, right?

But sleep didn't come.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt trapped—caught in some suffocating space I couldn't escape from. My chest tightened, my breaths coming quicker, shorter. The air in the room seemed to press down on me, heavy and stifling.

A soft knock at the door broke through my haze.

"Emilia?" It was Luca this time, his deep voice steady and calm but tinged with concern. "It's late. Are you alright?"

I froze, my heart pounding.

What could I say? That I felt like I was falling apart? That I didn't want to be a burden?

The door opened a crack, and Luca stepped inside, his sharp eyes immediately narrowing as he took me in.

"Emilia," he said, his voice lower now, more serious. He crossed the room in a few quick strides, crouching beside the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I croaked, my throat dry and scratchy.

"Don't lie to me." His hand reached out, brushing the back of his fingers against my forehead. His expression hardened instantly. "You're burning up."

I tried to sit up, but the room spun, and I sank back down, groaning softly.

"Stay here," Luca said, his voice firm but still gentle. "I'll be right back."

He left the room, and I closed my eyes, the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the hall. My arm throbbed beneath the cast, and I couldn't stop the tears that slipped down my cheeks.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and this time all four of them walked in.

Luca, Matteo, Nico, and Raffaele.

I wanted to sink into the bed and disappear.

"Tesoro," Matteo said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Why didn't you tell us you weren't feeling well?"

"I didn't want to bother you," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"Bother us?" Nico's voice was sharp, his brows furrowed in frustration. "You're running a fever, Emilia. This isn't something you can just hide."

"Easy, Nico," Matteo said, his hand brushing my hair back. His touch was so careful, so heartbreakingly gentle that it made my chest ache. "She's scared."

"Let me see," Luca said, his tone unreadable as he gestured to my arm.

I hesitated, but Matteo gave me a reassuring nod. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're here to help."

With trembling hands, I pushed the blanket away, revealing the red, swollen skin around the edge of the cast.

"Damn it," Luca muttered under his breath, his jaw clenching.

Raffaele knelt beside the bed, his usual lightheartedness replaced with quiet worry. "Piccolina, how long has it been like this?"

"I-I don't know," I admitted, my voice cracking.

"You should've told us," Matteo said, his voice soft but firm. "You're not a burden, Emilia. Never."

I blinked back tears, the weight of their concern crashing over me.

"Luca, get the first aid kit," Matteo said, his tone shifting into something more authoritative.

Luca nodded, disappearing from the room while Nico sat down on the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on me.

"You can't hide things like this," he said, his voice quieter now but still edged with frustration. "We're your brothers. Let us take care of you."

I didn't respond, the lump in my throat too big to swallow.

Luca returned with the kit, and Matteo got to work, carefully examining the area around the cast. "The skin's infected," he murmured, mostly to himself. "We need to clean this up and get her some antibiotics."

"Is it bad?" Raffaele asked, his voice tight.

"Bad enough," Matteo said grimly. "But we caught it before it could get worse."

I flinched as he started cleaning the area, the sting making me bite down on my lip.

"Sorry, sweetheart," Matteo said softly, his voice laced with guilt. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

"It's okay," I whispered, even though it wasn't.

By the time Matteo finished, my arm was freshly bandaged, and the throbbing had dulled slightly.

"There," he said, his voice soothing. "That should feel a little better now. But you're still running a fever, so we'll need to keep an eye on you."

"I'll stay with her," Luca said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Me too," Raffaele added, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the bed.

"And me," Nico muttered, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Matteo smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face. "You've got all of us looking out for you, dolcezza. You're not alone anymore."

The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of one of my brothers shifting. I could feel their eyes on me, watching my every move like I might shatter at any moment.

It was too much.

I stared at the freshly bandaged arm cradled against my chest, feeling small and out of place under their collective gaze. My chest tightened with the weight of their concern.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, barely able to push the words out. My throat still felt scratchy and dry, but I couldn't hold it in anymore. "I didn't mean to make you all worry. I just... I didn't want to bother you."

Raffaele, sitting cross-legged on the floor, shot up and leaned his elbows on the bed, his face soft with concern. "Piccolina, you're not a bother. Never. If anything, we're mad at ourselves for not noticing sooner."

I didn't respond, unsure how to process his words. The guilt in his voice only made the lump in my throat grow heavier.

Matteo reached for my good hand, his touch featherlight. "Sweetheart, listen to me. You're part of this family now, okay? That means when something's wrong, you tell us. That's not a burden—that's what family does. We take care of each other."

"Even if it's something small?" I asked quietly, barely meeting his eyes.

"Especially if it's something small," Luca said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. He was standing by the window, arms crossed, his sharp features shadowed by the dim light. "You've had to do everything on your own for far too long. That stops now."

I swallowed hard, my gaze flickering to Nico, who was still leaning against the wall, his expression unreadable.

"You don't have to figure this out alone," he said, his voice low and steady. "And you don't have to be afraid to ask for help. I know that's hard for you, but we're not going anywhere, Emilia."

The way he said my name—firm but not unkind—made my heart ache. I wanted to believe him, believe all of them, but the fear I'd carried for so long still clung to me, whispering that this was all temporary, that they'd get tired of me eventually.

"You should try to rest now," Matteo said, breaking through my thoughts. He squeezed my hand gently. "The fever might take some time to go down, but we'll be here. All of us."

I hesitated, glancing between them. "You don't have to stay. I'll be fine."

Luca stepped closer, shaking his head. "We're not leaving you alone, stellina." His voice was calm but left no room for argument.

"Besides," Raffaele added with a crooked smile, "it's not like I'm going to let you get into any more trouble while we're around. We've got you."

I blinked back the tears threatening to spill over and nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything else.

Matteo stood, grabbing a damp cloth from the first aid kit. "Here," he said softly, dabbing my forehead with it. "This will help with the fever. Just close your eyes for a bit, okay? You're safe."

Safe.

The word felt foreign, almost like it didn't belong to me.

But as I looked around at their faces—at Luca's quiet strength, Matteo's gentle reassurance, Nico's steady gaze, and Raffaele's soft smile—I realized that maybe, just maybe, it could.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself lean back against the pillows and close my eyes, their voices softly fading into the background as sleep finally began to pull me under.

POV: Nico

I watched as her breathing evened out, her small frame finally relaxing against the bed. The tension in my chest eased just slightly, but the knot in my stomach refused to go away.

"She shouldn't be like this," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Luca glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "None of this is her fault, Nico."

"I know that," I snapped, then immediately regretted it. Lowering my voice, I added, "I just... I hate that she's so scared of us. Of everything."

"She'll come around," Matteo said quietly, still perched on the edge of the bed. "It'll take time, but she's stronger than she looks."

"She shouldn't have to be strong," Raffaele murmured from the floor. His usual joking tone was gone, replaced by something heavier. "Not like this."

Luca let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. "We can't change what happened to her. All we can do is make sure it doesn't happen again."

"And make sure she knows she doesn't have to be scared anymore," Matteo added.

I nodded, but the guilt still sat heavy in my chest. We'd promised to protect her, to take care of her, and yet we hadn't noticed how bad things had gotten.

"She's still burning up," I said after a moment, watching Matteo as he checked her temperature again.

"It's better than before," he replied, his voice calm. "But we'll keep an eye on her through the night. Fevers like this can be tricky, but she'll pull through."

I leaned back against the wall, crossing my arms as I looked at her small frame buried under the blankets. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her breathing came a little too shallow for my liking, but Matteo seemed confident, and I trusted him.

"She doesn't know how to ask for help," I muttered after a long pause, staring at the floor.

"Of course she doesn't," Luca replied. His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried a weight that made me glance up. "She's had no one to ask for help from her entire life. She's been conditioned to believe she's alone."

"That's not going to change overnight," Matteo added, sitting back down in the chair beside her bed. His eyes didn't leave her. "But it'll change eventually. She's learning."

I scoffed softly. "Learning? She nearly let an infection take over her entire arm just to avoid 'bothering' us. That's not learning, that's..." I trailed off, rubbing the back of my neck in frustration.

"That's trauma," Raffaele said, his voice quiet but firm. "And you're not helping by acting like it's her fault. It's not about what she's doing wrong—it's about what's been done to her."

I felt my jaw tighten, shame creeping in at his words. Of course, it wasn't her fault. None of this was. I knew that. But seeing her like this—weak, scared, hurting—it was killing me.

"Raffaele's right," Matteo said gently. "The more we support her, the more she'll learn that we're not going anywhere. That she doesn't have to be afraid anymore."

"She's not going to believe that if all you do is scowl in the corner," Luca added, his lips quirking up in a faint smirk.

I shot him a glare, though it lacked any real heat. "I don't scowl."

"Yes, you do," Raffaele chimed in with a grin. "But hey, maybe it's comforting in a weird way. Like, 'Wow, look at my big, scary brother. He'd probably murder anyone who looked at me the wrong way.'"

"Not helping, Raff," Matteo said, though there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Raffaele just shrugged. "What? I'm just saying, she'll come around. She just needs time."

Time.

I hated that word. It felt so useless, so passive. But it was all we had right now.

I glanced back at Emilia, her small figure curled up under the blankets. Her hand twitched slightly, like she was dreaming, and I wondered what kind of nightmares she was battling even in sleep.

"We'll make this better for her," I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else. "We have to."

"You're right," Matteo said, standing up and clapping a hand on my shoulder. "And we will."

Luca nodded, his expression softening for just a moment. "She's not alone anymore. That's what matters."

For the first time in hours, I felt a sliver of hope break through the weight in my chest. Maybe they were right. Maybe time really could heal this.

But as I watched her stir in her sleep, her face briefly contorting into a frown, I couldn't help but wonder just how much time it would take—and whether she could hold on long enough to see it through.