Emilia's POV:

The ceiling above me wasn't the one I knew.

It wasn't cracked, and it didn't smell like damp wood and old cigarettes.

The sheets weren't thin and rough. They were soft—too soft—and the weight of the blanket felt like it could swallow me whole.

Panic tightened around my chest like a vice.

Where am I?

My breath caught, coming in short, ragged gasps.

I sat up too fast, the room tilting. My head throbbed, the ache behind my eyes sharp and unforgiving. My gaze darted around the unfamiliar space—warm light spilling through the tall windows, thick curtains draped to the side. The walls were painted soft cream, the furniture dark and polished.

Nothing like home.

No. Not home.

That place wasn't home.

But this wasn't either.

I couldn't breathe.

My hands clutched the blankets, fingers twisting in the fabric.

I had to get out.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my feet brushing against the cool floor. Every muscle in my body screamed, but I barely noticed.

I needed to—

A soft knock at the door made me freeze.

My stomach twisted, bile rising.

"Emilia?"

The voice was quiet. Careful.

Matteo.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

The door opened slowly, just a crack, and he peeked in. His brown eyes met mine, and something flickered there—concern, warmth, something else I couldn't name.

"Hey, sweetheart." His voice was barely above a whisper, like any louder would break me. "It's just me. Matteo."

I knew that. But my body didn't seem to understand.

"I—" My voice cracked.

Matteo's expression softened even more.

"Easy, baby. You're safe. I promise."

Safe.

The word felt foreign.

"I... I don't know where I am." My voice was thin, small.

Matteo stepped in slowly, hands out where I could see them, like I was a frightened animal that might bolt.

"You're home now," he said gently. "With us. Your brothers."

Home.

I swallowed hard, throat tight.

"I-I didn't mean to sleep so long," I mumbled, fingers still gripping the blanket.

"Oh, sweet girl, don't even worry about that." Matteo's smile was soft, but there was something sad in it too. "Your body needs rest. But it's morning now, and I thought maybe you'd like to join us for breakfast?"

Breakfast.

Food.

My stomach twisted, but not from hunger.

"I'm... I'm not really hungry."

His smile didn't falter.

"That's okay, amore. You don't have to eat much. Just sit with us, yeah? We'd love to have you there."

The way he said it—like it was an invitation, not an order—left me blinking.

"I... I guess," I whispered.

"That's my girl," Matteo murmured, and something warm curled in my chest.

"I'll wait outside, okay? Take your time."

He closed the door so quietly I barely heard the latch click.

I sat there for a moment, staring at the door.

Home.

Brothers.

Breakfast.

It didn't make sense.

But I forced my legs to move, one slow step at a time.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the dresser—too pale, shadows under my eyes, hair tangled. I looked like a ghost.

I didn't want them to see me like this.

But I didn't want to stay alone either.

I crept to the door, opening it just a crack. Matteo was leaning against the wall, arms crossed loosely.

He smiled when he saw me.

"There she is. Ready, sweetheart?"

I nodded once, barely.

He didn't reach for me. Just turned and walked slowly, giving me space to follow.

The hallway was too big, the ceilings too high. Everything in this house was too much.

I followed him down the stairs, gripping the banister so hard my knuckles ached.

Voices drifted from the kitchen—deep, low murmurs.

Luca, Nico, and Raffaele.

I hesitated at the doorway.

Matteo glanced back.

"You're okay, Emilia. I'm right here."

He stepped inside, and I trailed behind him like a shadow.

The kitchen was warm, sunlight pouring in through the windows.

Luca sat at the head of the table, reading something on his phone. Raffaele was leaning back in his chair, tossing a grape into his mouth. Nico was hunched forward, staring into his coffee like it had personally offended him.

Four pairs of eyes turned to me.

Everything in me screamed to run.

But then Luca's face softened, and he gave me a small, slow nod.

"Morning, Emilia."

"Hi," Raffaele chimed in, voice light but quiet. "We saved you a seat."

Nico didn't say anything, but his gaze wasn't sharp like before. Just... watching.

Matteo gestured to the chair beside him.

I shuffled over, sitting as small as I could.

There was food on the table. Eggs, toast, fruit.

It smelled good.

But my stomach was a knot.

I stared at the plate in front of me.

Matteo noticed.

"No rush, amore. Just take what you want. We're just glad you're here."

I picked up a piece of toast, hands shaking.

Tiny bites. Small enough not to feel like anything.

"That's perfect, sweetheart," Matteo murmured so only I could hear.

My stomach twisted painfully.

I didn't deserve praise for something so small.

My grip on the toast tightened.

I could feel them watching me, though none of them stared in a way that made me feel cornered. It was softer than that—quieter.

Still, it made my skin prickle.

"You did good, stellina."(little star)

The voice was low, almost hesitant. I glanced up, startled, and found Luca watching me from the head of the table. His tone was softer than I thought he was capable of.

I dropped my gaze back to the plate, my face burning.

"Yeah," Raffaele chimed in, kicking his chair back slightly. His grin was softer than usual. "That's more than we thought you'd eat. Proud of you, piccolina."(little one)

I swallowed hard.

"I... it's just toast," I mumbled.

Matteo leaned in slightly, voice like silk. "To you, maybe. But to us? It's brave, amore."(love)

My chest tightened.

I wasn't brave.

I was terrified.

The scrape of a fork startled me, and I flinched. Nico froze mid-movement, his hand still gripping his fork. His face tightened like he was mad—at himself.

"Sorry," he muttered, quieter than I thought Nico could be.

I shook my head, forcing my muscles to unclench.

Why were they like this?

Tiptoeing around me like I was glass.

Because I was.

I hadn't even noticed my breathing had sped up until Matteo's hand brushed lightly against my wrist—a barely-there touch, enough to ground me but not overwhelm.

"Breathe, tesoro. You're safe."

Safe.

That word again.

I let out a shaky breath and picked at the toast, more out of something to do than hunger.

Raffaele leaned forward, chin in his hand. "You want something else? We got fruit. Or maybe—"

"I'm fine."

"Okay. No pressure, piccolina."(little one)

A heavy silence fell, not awkward, but weighted.

Then Luca cleared his throat. "We've got a quiet day today. No pressure to do anything, but... if you feel up to it, maybe we could show you around the house."

My eyes darted up, searching his face for a catch.

There wasn't one.

"I... I don't know."

"That's alright." Matteo smiled softly. "You decide. We're not going anywhere."

Nico finally spoke up, his voice rough.

"You don't have to be scared of us. We're not... him."

The room went still.

I stiffened, heart pounding.

I hated how that word made my throat close up.

Matteo shot Nico a sharp glance but didn't correct him.

Nico leaned back, eyes dark but calm. "Just saying."

Luca set his coffee down slowly, voice low and even.

"Nico's right. We're not here to tell you what to do. You're not a prisoner, Emilia."

My chest tightened.

"You say that, but..." I stopped, biting the inside of my cheek.

Matteo leaned forward, arms folded on the table.

"But?" he urged gently.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"But I don't know what to do with this."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

"This house. You. All of this. It's too much."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Luca, steady as stone, spoke softly.

"It's okay not to know, stellina."

Raffaele leaned back with a sigh. "Yeah, we don't expect you to just... be fine. You've been through hell."

Matteo's hand didn't leave the table, but his presence was steady beside me.

"And you don't have to figure it out today. Or tomorrow."

Nico made a rough noise in his throat. "Or ever. If you wanna sit here and stare at toast all day, fine. Just... don't hurt yourself doing it."

That startled me.

My eyes snapped to him, but Nico wasn't looking at me. He stared down at his plate like he hated it.

"That's all we ask," Luca said quietly.

My throat ached, but I gave the smallest nod.

They all relaxed, even if just a little.

Matteo smiled again, eyes soft.

"Bene, amore. That's all we need."(Good, love)

I wasn't used to this.

Kind words felt heavier than the toast in my hand.

I set it down carefully, my stomach churning.

"That's okay too, piccolina," Raffaele said softly. "Maybe next time."

Only I knew there wouldn't be a next time. I knew this kindness would end someday. I didn't deserve this.