POV: Luca

The drive back was silent, but my mind was anything but.

The Russians knew about Emilia.

That changed everything.

I gripped the wheel tighter, jaw locked as I ran through every possible scenario. There were only a few ways they could've found out. Someone talked. Someone followed us. Or—worst-case scenario—they'd known longer than we realized and had just been waiting to make their move.

I didn't like any of those options.

Nico sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, eyes locked on the road. "We need to reinforce security. Now."

"I know." My voice was clipped.

"We should've expected this," Matteo murmured from the back, his usual calm tinged with frustration. "We took in a missing girl with no explanation. It was only a matter of time before someone started asking questions."

"She's our sister," I snapped, my grip tightening on the wheel. "We weren't just going to leave her there."

"I'm not saying we should have," Matteo said evenly. "I'm saying we weren't prepared for what came next. And now, we're playing defense."

I hated that he was right.

Defense wasn't how I liked to operate.

I glanced at Nico. "Get someone on our contacts in Russia. I want to know exactly who's asking about her and how much they know."

Nico nodded, already pulling out his phone.

Raffaele's voice crackled through the Bluetooth. "Just checking in, fratelli. You guys alive?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "Any problems on your end?"

There was a slight pause before Raffaele answered, voice a little too casual. "Define problems."

My stomach dropped. "Raffaele."

He sighed. "Emilia's fever spiked again. She's awake, but she's out of it. Matteo, I think you're going to want to check her when you get back."

Matteo sat forward instantly. "How high?"

"Not dangerously high, but it's not great. She's sweating, shaking a little." Raffaele's voice was quieter now. "She asked for you, Teo."

Matteo inhaled sharply. "We're five minutes out."

I pressed harder on the gas.

We didn't have time for this.

We had Russians sniffing around, an infection that wasn't healing properly, and now Emilia was getting worse.

Something had to give.

POV: Emilia

I was floating.

Or maybe sinking.

Everything felt heavy, and my skin burned like fire and ice at the same time. My head was thick with fog, my limbs unmovable.

I was in my bed. I was safe.

But my body didn't feel safe.

The fever had wrapped itself around me, pulling me in and out of sleep, making everything blur together. I thought I heard voices—Raffaele's gentle hum, a door closing somewhere—but they felt far away, like echoes bouncing off the edges of my mind.

I hated this feeling.

I hated feeling weak.

The door opened, and I forced my heavy eyelids to lift.

Matteo.

His face came into focus slowly, his brows drawn together in concern as he crouched beside the bed. "Stellina," he murmured, his voice so soft it almost made my chest ache. "You're burning up."

I tried to shake my head, to tell him I was fine, but the movement made me dizzy. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "I'm... okay."

Matteo's lips pressed into a thin line. "No, sweetheart. You're not."

I felt another presence—Luca, standing by the door, his expression unreadable. Nico and Raffaele weren't far behind, hovering like shadows.

Too many people. Too much attention.

I shrank further into the blankets, curling into myself.

Matteo reached out, his fingers barely grazing my forehead before he frowned. "We need to bring the fever down," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "It's too high."

I forced my dry lips to part. "I'm fine."

Luca exhaled sharply. "You always say that."

I flinched at the frustration in his voice, but when I glanced at him, his expression wasn't angry. Just... worried.

I hated that look.

I hated being the reason for it.

Matteo brushed a damp strand of hair away from my face. "We're going to help you, amore. But I need you to let us."

I nodded weakly, too tired to argue.

The next few minutes were a blur of cool cloths against my skin, whispered reassurances, and the steady weight of someone—maybe Matteo, maybe Raffaele—keeping me grounded.

At some point, I must've drifted off again because when I blinked back into focus, the room was darker.

The brothers were still there.

Still watching.

Still waiting.

But everything felt wrong.

I was too hot, my skin burning under layers of blankets, but at the same time, I couldn't stop shivering. My head ached, my limbs felt like lead, and my throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. The fever had settled deep into my bones, making everything hazy, sluggish, like I was trapped underwater.

But even through the fevered fog, I knew something was wrong.

I could feel it.

There was a heaviness in the air, something unspoken pressing down on the walls of this house, thick and suffocating. It had been there before I got sick, before the dizziness took over, before I stopped being able to keep track of time.

Something happened.

I just didn't know what.

I curled deeper under the blankets, trying to make myself smaller. The room was dim, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. Everything was quiet except for the distant murmur of voices outside my door.

They were talking. Again.

They thought I couldn't hear them.

I turned my face into the pillow, my fingers gripping the sheets tightly.

I wasn't supposed to listen. I shouldn't listen.

But I could feel their tension like a weight in my chest.

Something was wrong.

And they weren't telling me.

The voices outside the door were too muffled to make out full sentences, but I recognized them—Matteo's steady calm, Luca's sharp, clipped words, Nico's low muttering, Raffaele's lighter tone, missing its usual playfulness.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push it all away.

I didn't want to know.

I shouldn't want to know.

Knowing things never helped. Knowing things only made things worse.

So, I stayed quiet.

Like I always did.

A few minutes later, the door opened with a soft creak, and I forced myself to keep my body still, pretending I wasn't awake.

Footsteps approached the bed, and then something cool pressed against my forehead. I flinched before I could stop myself.

"Stellina," Matteo murmured, his voice so gentle it made my chest ache. "I know you're awake."

I hesitated, my fingers still clenched in the blankets, before slowly opening my eyes.

Matteo's face was the first thing I saw. His brows were drawn together in concern, his dark eyes scanning my face like he was looking for something—something I didn't understand.

I blinked sluggishly, my vision blurring for a second before adjusting.

Matteo was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a damp cloth. I could see movement in the background—Luca standing near the window, his arms crossed tight, his face unreadable. Raffaele was sitting on the floor, his knee bouncing slightly, and Nico was against the wall, his expression blank but his fingers drumming absently against his arm.

They were all here.

Watching.

Waiting.

My stomach twisted.

I tried to sit up, but my arms shook under my own weight. Matteo caught me before I could fall sideways, his grip steady but careful.

"Easy," he murmured. "Drink."

He pressed a glass of water to my lips, and I let him help me take a few slow sips. The coolness soothed my throat, but my hands were shaking too much to hold the glass myself.

Matteo didn't seem to mind.

He set it down when I was done, adjusting the blanket around me like I was something fragile.

I hated that.

I wasn't fragile.

I was used to being sick. Used to fevers, to pain, to taking care of myself.

But I wasn't used to this.

The weight of all of them in the room. The heavy silence. The way they were looking at me like I might break apart at any second.

I pulled the blanket higher, curling in on myself. My fingers trembled as I gripped the fabric. "You're... watching me."

Matteo's expression softened, but before he could say anything, I heard Nico shift against the wall.

"We're making sure you don't stop breathing," he muttered. "So yeah, we're watching you."

I flinched at the bluntness of his words.

Luca shot him a sharp look, but he didn't argue.

Raffaele sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He means we're worried, piccolina." His voice was lighter than Nico's, but there was an edge to it. "You had a fever so high you barely knew where you were last night."

I swallowed, my chest tightening. I hated this.

I hated them worrying about me.

I hated being the reason for the tension in the air.

I shrank further under the blanket, trying to disappear. "I don't..." My voice cracked. "I don't like it when you all stare at me."

Silence.

Then—movement.

Nico pushed off the wall, his jaw tight, and walked toward the door without a word.

Luca followed a second later, his expression unreadable as he stepped into the hallway.

Raffaele hesitated, his usual teasing grin nowhere to be found. "We're not staring at you like that, piccolina." His voice was quiet. "We're just making sure you're okay."

I didn't respond.

Because I didn't know how.

Matteo reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair away from my forehead. His fingers were warm, steady, careful. "You're safe, amore. Just rest."

I swallowed, my throat tight.

I wanted to believe him.

But something deep inside me was screaming that I wasn't.

That I wouldn't ever really be.

I closed my eyes, my fingers still curled in the blanket, listening to the sound of Matteo's quiet breathing beside me.

I wasn't sure how long I lay there, teetering on the edge of sleep, but before I fully drifted, I felt Matteo shift beside me.

Felt him tuck the blanket tighter around me.

Felt his fingers brush lightly over my wrist as he murmured something too soft for me to understand.

I didn't open my eyes.

But for the first time in hours, I wasn't completely drowning in the fear.

(I just realized that I never made a characters page and tbh I'm way to lazy to make one so this is just a mini version)

Luca Costello- 23 years old Matteo Costello- 20 years old Nico Costello- 18 years old Raffaele Costello- 17 years old Emilia Costello- 9 years old