Chapter Seven
Sabrina
This time, I wake before the sun.
Dario is pressed against my side, his small body warm and solid, one arm draped across my waist with his fingers curled into my shirt.
The room is still dark, but a thin streak of morning light slips through a gap in the covered window, stretching across the wall and casting long shadows over the rows of beds.
Around us, the other children sleep peacefully. Soft murmurs and uneven breaths blend into something almost comforting, but I know better than to trust the quiet. It never lasts.
I carefully ease Dario's arm away and wait until his breathing settles before sliding out of bed. I move through the room slowly, stepping around scattered shoes and blankets until I reach the window.
When I pull the curtain back just enough to see outside, I stop.
Across the street, a car is parked where it shouldn't be.
The same one I noticed last night.
At first, I hadn't thought much of it. I was tired, and paranoia wasn't exactly unusual for me. But after seeing it sitting there for almost the entire night, I can't ignore the warning tightening in my chest.
I glance back at Dario. He's still asleep, completely unaware of the world beyond these walls. He has no idea that there are people who would happily use him to get to me, or that I've spent years making sure nobody gets close enough to try.
My gaze returns to the car.
If they lay a finger on Dario – or even think about it – I’ll make sure the last thing they learn is how sharp steel feels.
I keep watching the car, my instincts telling me that whatever is waiting out there isn't going to disappear simply because I want it to.
***
The back garden is damp with morning dew, the grass cool beneath my feet as Dario runs ahead of me with a plastic sword in one hand and a cape far too large for him trailing behind.
“Watch this,” he announces, planting his feet as though he's about to face a dragon.
I stop and fold my arms. “I'm watching.”
He swings the sword with all the strength his four-year-old body can manage, nearly spinning himself around in the process. When he finishes, he looks up at me expectantly.
“Well?”
I drop to one knee and bow dramatically. “Terrifying. Absolutely fearless. I don't think the garden will ever recover.”
His grin appears instantly. He barrels into me, wrapping his arms around my legs as I pretend the impact knocks me backwards. We tumble into the grass together, his laughter loud and unrestrained, mine slipping out before I can stop it.
When we settle, he lies beside me and points towards the clouds, finding shapes in them and explaining each one as though they're secrets meant only for us. I listen to every word.
Eventually, he rolls onto his side and presses his forehead against my arm.
“You're staying tonight, right?” he asks quietly.
I swallow and smooth his hair back.
“Not tonight. But I'll be back tomorrow.”
His fingers curl into my sleeve for a moment before he nods, small and serious.
“Okay.”
We stay there a little longer, letting the sun warm our faces. When it's finally time to leave, I make sure I give him one last hug before heading inside.
Because I always come back.
After being smothered with kisses and hugs, I leave the orphanage and step onto the quiet street. A few cars pass, their engines humming before disappearing into the distance, while the city slowly begins to wake.
The spot across the street is empty.
Good.
I keep walking, my pace even, but irritation coils tightly in my chest. I hate being followed, especially when it brings attention anywhere near Dario. I'm careful. Always have been. I don't leave loose ends, and I don't get sloppy.
Yet the feeling of being watched refuses to disappear.
By the time my building comes into view, I almost convince myself I imagined it.
Almost.
The same car is parked across the street.
I stop for half a second, frustration replacing the unease that had been building since the orphanage. If they wanted to scare me, they've succeeded. If they wanted to make me angry, they've managed that too.
I take the stairs instead of the elevator, my hand slipping beneath my hoodie as I climb. The familiar weight of my knife settles into my palm.
Each step sharpens my focus.
If they've followed me here, they've made a mistake.
And if they're here for Dario, I'll make sure they regret it.
I reach my floor and slip the lock without a sound, easing the door open just enough to slide inside.
Soft light spills across the living room, warm and completely wrong.
I freeze.
Five figures stand inside.
Four men. One woman.
They're facing away from me as though they belong here, as though they have every right to be standing inside my apartment. I press myself against the wall, knife held firmly in my hand as I listen.
The woman stands slightly apart from the others, long dark hair falling down her back. There's something composed about her posture, too composed for someone who's trespassing.
“We shouldn't be doing this,” she says. “This crosses a line.”
One of the men closest to her lowers his voice.
“Mama, we're not here to cause trouble. We just want to know more about her.”
I blink.
Mama?
Of course. Because apparently breaking into my apartment with your mother is a perfectly reasonable family outing.
I don't know who these people are or why they're here. All I know is that they're standing in my apartment, talking about me as though I'm not close enough to hear every word.
Whatever this is, it's already gone too far.
“We should just be quick,” another man says. “In and out. She'll come back and scream the whole place down if she finds us here.”
“She's not going to like this," the woman replies sharply. “We can't stay long, or she'll –”
“Exactly. That's why we move now.”
I let them argue for another moment, studying their positions and calculating the fastest way to take control of the room.
Then I move.
Before anyone can react, I grab the man closest to the woman, wrenching him backwards and forcing him onto his knees. I pull him against me and press the blade against his throat.
“No need,” I say quietly. “She's already here, and she's not screaming the whole place down.”
Silence falls over the room.
Every head turns towards me.
And then I see them.
Rafael Moretti stands at the far end of the apartment, tall and rigid, his attention fixed entirely on me. There’s something commanding about the way he holds himself, an authority that doesn’t need to be announced to be felt.
Dante stands beside him, taller and broader than his brothers, his brown hair perfectly in place. His hazel eyes remain fixed on me, calm but watchful, taking in every movement like he’salready calculating what I’ll do next.
Enzo leans against the wall behind them, his light brown hair as neat as the rest of him. His hazel eyes follow the scene with quiet alertness, his expression controlled despite the blade pressed against his brother’s throat.
Bianca stands slightly forward, her dark hair falling around her shoulders as her sharp gaze moves between Matteo and me. There’s an elegance to the way she carries herself, but her composure does little to hide the concern in her expression.
And beneath my blade is Matteo Moretti. His dark hair is tousled, a stark contrast to Enzo’s almost irritating neatness, and his hazel eyes meet mine with a mixture of disbelief and caution.
The tension in his body shifts as he recognises me, his initial resistance giving way to something more controlled.
Disbelief crashes through me.
I hadn't expected them. Not here. Not like this.
My grip tightens around the knife as adrenaline surges through me. I've survived worse than this, but I've never had to deal with the people standing in front of me now.
For the first time in a long time, I have no idea what happens next.