A Fragile Thread

Chapter 14: Problems

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.