Chapter 3
3
EMILIA
T he weeks after Adrianna’s wedding passed in a haze, each day bleeding into the next until time lost all meaning. I couldn’t tell you what day it was, what I’d eaten, or even if I’d spoken to anyone. The world outside my bedroom became a distant hum—irrelevant, muted, as if I’d pressed pause on my life and was drifting through the days in a fog of exhaustion and heartache.
I wanted to call him. God, how I wanted to call him.
Every time my phone buzzed, my heart would leap, only to plummet when I saw it wasn’t him. My fingers hovered over his name in my contacts more times than I could count, my thumb trembling as I debated pressing the call button. But I never did. I couldn’t. Because what would I even say?
Why did you leave me? Why did you break me?
The questions felt too heavy, too impossible to put into words. And deep down, I was terrified of what his answers might be.
My brothers noticed something was wrong. Of course they did. Tony and Gio were as perceptive as they were overbearing, their eyes sharp and searching every time they looked at me. But they hadn’t said anything—not yet. Maybe they were waiting for me to crack, to spill my guts over dinner or in the middle of one of their endless arguments about business.
But I didn’t give them the chance.
I stopped joining them for meals or showing up to family events. I withdrew completely, avoiding anything that required me to face other people. The Ricci estate, once a gilded cage I’d spent years trying to escape, now felt like a sanctuary—a place where I could hide from the world and wallow in my misery without judgment.
Even my father noticed, though he was far less intrusive than my brothers. He cornered me in the hallway one morning, his expression softer than I’d ever seen, his sharp eyes scanning my face.
“You’ve been working hard, Emilia,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Why don’t you take a few days off? Rest. Clear your head.”
I forced a smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. “I’m fine, Papa.”
He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his brow furrowed, the way his eyes lingered on the dark circles under mine. But he didn’t push. He simply nodded, placed a hand on my shoulder, and said, “Take the time, Emilia. You deserve it.”
Did I? I wasn’t sure anymore.
I spent the next few days in bed, the curtains drawn tight to keep out the sunlight. My room became my entire world, the walls closing in around me as I lay there, staring at the ceiling and replaying every moment with Dante in my mind. The way he’d looked at me, like I was both his salvation and his ruin. The way his voice had cracked when he said I mattered more than anything else in his life. The way he’d walked away, leaving me with nothing but bruises and unanswered questions.
I hated him.
I loved him.
I hated that I loved him.
The thought of sneaking out, of slipping away into the night like I used to, didn’t even cross my mind. What was the point? The excitement, the thrill of rebellion—it all felt hollow now. I didn’t want to drink or dance or flirt with strangers. I didn’t want to feel anything.
Food lost its appeal, too. I picked at the trays the staff brought to my room, nibbling on crackers or a few bites of fruit before pushing the rest aside. My appetite had vanished, replaced by a gnawing emptiness that no amount of food could fill.
I slept during the day, the hours slipping away in a haze of restless dreams and fitful naps. At night, I lay awake, the silence of the estate pressing down on me like a weight. The only sounds were the faint creaks of the old house settling and the occasional rustle of leaves outside my window.
The nights were the worst.
In the suffocating quiet of the dark, the memories came crashing down like a tidal wave. Dante’s voice, his touch, the way he’d made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in his world. And then the way he’d torn it all away, leaving me shattered and alone.
I cried more than I cared to admit. Silent, gut-wrenching sobs that left me gasping for air, my chest heaving as I clutched my pillow like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
The bruises on my arm faded, but the ache in my chest didn’t.
My brothers tried to check on me, knocking on my door and calling my name, but I ignored them. I couldn’t face their questions, their concern. I couldn’t bear the thought of their pity.
The days blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last. I lost track of time, of the world outside my room. The only thing that tethered me to reality was the faint sound of life continuing on without me—the distant hum of conversation from the dining room, the occasional burst of laughter from Matteo or Tony.
They were moving forward, living their lives, while I was stuck in this endless loop of pain and longing.
I thought about calling Adrianna, about spilling my heart to her the way I had the morning after the wedding. But every time I picked up the phone, I hesitated. She was happy now, starting a new chapter with Michael, and I didn’t want to burden her with my mess.
So I stayed in my room, cocooned in my misery, waiting for... what? For Dante to come back? For the pain to fade? For something—anything—to change?
I didn’t know.
All I knew was that I couldn’t keep going like this.
One night, as I lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, I made a decision. I didn’t know what it would lead to—whether I’d confront Dante, walk away from him, or simply find a way to breathe again. But I couldn’t stay in this limbo any longer.
Because as much as I hated him for breaking me, I hated myself more for letting him.