Chapter Eight
Sabrina
My apartment is small and cramped, barely big enough for everything I need. The bed is tucked into the corner near the window, which doubles as an escape route if I ever need one. A tiny bathroom sits on the other side of the room, while the front area serves as both the kitchen and living space.
And now, the Moretti family is standing in it.
Shock hits me as I take in Rafael, Dante, Matteo, Enzo and Bianca. Seeing them here, inside my apartment, is almost too much to process. My pulse hammers against my ribs, but I force myself to focus, tightening my grip around the knife still pressed against Matteo's throat.
I lift my gaze until it locks onto Rafael.
“You have thirty seconds,” I say calmly, even though chaos is pounding through my chest. “Thirty seconds to explain why you're standing in my apartment like you own it.”
The blade presses slightly harder against Matteo's neck. A thin line of blood appears beneath it, and he goes completely still.
“And if I don't like the explanation,” I add, keeping my eyes on Rafael, “I start with him.”
The room falls silent. Thirty seconds is more than enough time to decide whether this ends with words or blood.
Rafael doesn't raise his hands or step towards me. He simply meets my gaze, calm in a way that makes my instincts sharpen.
“I have a good explanation for why we're here,” he says evenly. “But I need you to remove the knife from my son's neck first.”
A humourless breath leaves me.
“Asking me to put the knife away isn't an explanation. If you want to waste your thirty seconds on that, that's your choice.”
I glance down at Matteo, watching the bead of blood slowly trail down his neck before looking back at Rafael.
“Twenty seconds.”
Silence stretches between us.
Rafael's jaw tightens. He knows I'm not bluffing.
Then Bianca steps forward.
For the first time, I notice the tears gathered in her eyes. Her voice shakes slightly when she speaks, but there is something firm beneath it that makes me pause.
“We're your family.”
I stare at her, the words taking a moment to register. Then I glance between her and the four men standing behind her, the knife still pressed against Matteo's throat.
“You're serious?”
“Completely.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “This sounds like something out of a bad movie.”
Bianca's lips twitch despite the tears in her eyes. “I know it does. But I'm serious. I'm your mother.”
I blink at her.
“And he's your father,” she continues, gesturing towards Rafael. “Matteo, Enzo and Dante are your brothers.”
My gaze moves between them, trying to make sense of the words. A mother. A father. Four brothers I'd never known existed.
“What drugs are you on?”
Her expression doesn't change. She simply looks at me, and something inside my chest shifts. It's barely noticeable, nothing I can explain, but for one brief moment, the idea that she's telling the truth feels possible.
I refuse to let myself believe it.
Rafael steps forward slightly, his voice calm and unwavering.
“We can do a DNA test. If you need proof, we'll give you proof.”
I lower the knife a fraction, studying him.
“And what makes you think I'm your daughter?”
A faint smile touches his face, almost as though the answer is obvious.
“Because I've spent seventeen years looking for you. The moment I saw you, I knew. But I understand that's not proof. That's why we'll do the DNA test.”
My stomach twists. Seventeen years. The number feels impossible.
Rafael continues, gesturing towards the world beyond my apartment.
“You have four more brothers at home. They're waiting for you. Waiting to meet you.”
I shake my head.
“Why would I go anywhere with you? Why should I believe any of this?”
His expression remains firm.
“Because once the DNA test comes back, there's no way I'm leaving you here. Not now. Not ever.”
The words settle heavily between us.
Slowly, I ease the knife away from Matteo's neck. Not because I trust them, but because something in my chest is tightening in a way I don't recognise. I keep the blade in my hand, lowered but ready. A warning, not a surrender.
Matteo exhales carefully, as though he's afraid one wrong movement will put the knife back against his throat.
“I'm not agreeing to anything,” I say. “And I'm not leaving with you. Not now, not ever – not without proof.”
Rafael nods once, as though he'd expected nothing else.
“We'll do the DNA test,” I continue. “And if it comes back positive, you don't get to decide what happens next.”
Bianca's breath catches.
“I have a life here,” I say, keeping my voice steady despite the tension tightening in my chest. “A real one. I'm not abandoning it for anyone.”
Rafael studies me for a long moment.
“If the test confirms it, you belong with your family.”
My jaw tightens.
“Maybe. But belonging doesn't mean disappearing, and it doesn't mean I owe you obedience.”
Silence settles over the room again. Dante shifts slightly, his eyes moving between Rafael and me, while Enzo remains quiet. Matteo rubs at his neck, still watching me as though he's trying to memorise every detail of my face.
Bianca finally speaks.
“We won't force you.”
I meet her gaze.
“Good.”
Because whatever that test says, I'm not walking away from the life I've built with my own hands. I didn't survive everything I did just to trade one cage for another. If I ever leave, it will be because I chose to, on my terms and in my own time.
Rafael gives a single nod.
“We'll arrange the test,” he says. “Soon.”
Bianca hesitates. I can see that she wants to say more, wants to cross the room and touch my face as though she needs to convince herself I'm real, but she doesn't. She simply looks at me one last time, her eyes shining, before turning away.
Dante opens the door, and Enzo follows without a word. Matteo lingers for a moment, glancing back at me as though he's trying to solve a puzzle he didn't know existed until tonight.
Then they're gone, and the door clicks shut behind them.
Silence rushes back into the apartment, heavier than before. I stand there with the knife still loose in my hand, listening for voices, footsteps or anything that might prove the last few minutes weren't real.
Nothing comes.
I cross the room and lock the door before checking it again. Then I move towards the window and pull the curtain aside just enough to see the street below.
Their car idles for a few seconds before finally pulling away. I wait until the taillights disappear before letting my shoulders drop.
At the sink, I clean the knife, wiping away the small amount of blood from the blade. My hands don't shake. I've learned to keep them steady, no matter what is breaking apart inside me.
The word family settles heavily in my chest.
Ivan made sure I knew I had one. He never told me their names or showed me their faces, but he reminded me every day that they existed somewhere beyond his reach. That I was wanted. That I was loved. That someone had searched for me and failed.
He used it like a weapon.
They didn't come for you. They couldn't save you. They chose to let you go.
He kept the hope alive just long enough to crush it again.
And now they're here.
Real people standing in my apartment, looking at me as though I'm something they lost and finally found.
I don't sleep that night. I lie awake, staring at the ceiling while the city hums faintly beyond the window, trying to make sense of something that doesn't fit into the life I've spent years building.
Tomorrow, I'll wake up and follow my routine. I'll keep my life intact.
Because even if they're my family, I'm not something anyone gets to claim.
***
A week has passed.
The day after they came to my apartment, Rafael returned with the DNA test. He didn't stay long, and I made sure of that. The swab, the paperwork and the silence were over quickly, leaving behind a question I wasn't ready to ask and an answer I wasn't ready to hear.
I didn't let anything else change.
I stuck to my routine because it was the only thing keeping me steady. I went to the bakery, carried the boxes to the orphanage, spent time with Asher, Mario and Lillian, and stayed with Dario whenever I could.
But he noticed.
He always does.
He watched me the same way he watches the sky when he thinks it might rain. When he asked if I was okay, I told him I was. I told him everything was fine.
I've lied better than that before.
Yesterday, the results came back.
The envelope sat on my table when I opened it. I didn't need to read the first line to know what it said. Bianca's hands were trembling, and Rafael had gone unnaturally still, as though he was afraid that even breathing might somehow change the result.
Positive. Seventeen years of absence reduced to black ink on white paper.
I looked at him.
“Why was I gone for so long? Why did I grow up without you while you all grew up together?”
Rafael didn't flinch. He told me they had enemies people who would have done anything to hurt them, people who could have used me to get to him.
I understood.
I didn't say Ivan's name, but it sat heavily between us anyway.
“I need time,” I told them. “Time to think. To breathe. To exist without someone waiting for my next move.”
They left after that.
Rafael lingered at the door, his hand resting against the frame for a moment.
“I'm not going home,” he said. “I'll stay in the city until you decide what you want.”
I looked at him.
“How long?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“As long as it takes. Even if it takes another seventeen years.”
Now I lie awake in the darkness, staring towards the ceiling and wondering how something I had always known could still feel like a surprise.
I always knew I had a family.
I just never thought they'd find me.