A Fragile Thread

Chapter 8: First Light

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.