Chapter Fourteen
Sabrina
At some point during the night, Dario had managed to take over most of the bed.
When I opened my eyes, he was half sprawled across me, one arm draped over my stomach and one leg thrown over mine as though he thought I might disappear if he let go. Considering he was four years old, it was impressive how much space he could occupy.
I lay there for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
The room was still dark, the first signs of morning yet to reach the windows, while the rest of the house remained silent around us.
Dario slept soundly, completely unaware that he'd somehow transformed himself into a human blanket overnight.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I looked down at him.
For a while, I simply stayed where I was, staring at the ceiling and enjoying the quiet.
Last night lingered in my mind. Even now, it still felt strange. Sitting across from someone who looked exactly like me should have been uncomfortable. It should have felt wrong, unnatural.
But it didn't.
It felt easy, like we hadn't just met, like we hadn't been separated for seventeen years. Like something had simply clicked back into place without either of us forcing it.
The conversation had been awkward – painfully awkward – but somewhere along the way, it had shifted into something softer.
Carlo had stayed for a while afterwards, long enough to sit on the floor with Dario and join whatever chaotic battle was happening between his action figures.
Watching them together had been strange in a way I couldn't quite explain.
Two completely different parts of my life, existing in the same space without clashing.
Dario had been the one to end it. He'd started yawning halfway through talking, his words becoming less coherent until he'd eventually given up completely. Carlo had laughed, told him to get some sleep and left not long after.
Now it was morning. My first real day here – with my family.
Carefully, I slipped out from underneath Dario, replacing myself with one of the pillows before pulling the duvet back over his shoulder. He frowned slightly in his sleep, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “no broccoli,” and immediately settled again.
Shaking my head, I quietly left the room and headed towards the bathroom, the floor cold beneath my feet.
I turned on the cold water in the shower without thinking.
It hit the tiles sharply, echoing through the quiet room, and only then did I realise what I'd done. My hand lingered near the tap for a second.
I could turn it warm.
There was no reason not to anymore. No bills to think about. No counting coins. No choosing between comfort and saving money.
But I didn't.
I stepped under the cold water anyway.
It bit against my skin, sharp and familiar, forcing a quiet breath from me. It woke me instantly, grounding me in something I understood.
Some habits didn't disappear just because your surroundings changed.
When I was done, I stepped out and wrapped a towel around myself before standing in front of the mirror.
For a moment, I simply looked at my reflection.
Scars covered my skin. Some were faded, others still sharp, many hidden beneath ink. The rest served as quiet reminders of everything I'd survived.
My gaze dropped to my wrist.
The number 13 stared back at me, small and simple.
My fingers brushed over it lightly. It was the most important one. The one that reminded me why I kept going. The day Dario was born. The day I found my reason to live.
My eyes drifted to the ink trailing along my side, the edge of a phoenix stretching across my ribs. I remembered every line etched into my skin, every hour it had taken and every reason I'd chosen it.
The phoenix was more than a symbol. It was a reminder of what it meant to rise, to burn and to begin again.
The flames didn't destroy the phoenix.
They remade it.
I brushed my fingers over the edge of the ink, feeling the faint texture beneath my skin. The gesture grounded me, anchoring me to every version of myself I'd left behind.
The tattoo wasn't simply a piece of art. It was a promise to myself. No matter where I ended up or what this new life threw at me, I wouldn't stay down.
I never had.
When I lifted my head and met my reflection again, something in my gaze felt steadier than before. Stronger. More certain.
I'd survive.
***
Rafael's office was nothing like the rest of the house.
Where everything else felt warm and lived-in, this room was quiet and deliberate.
Dark wood lined the walls, shelves of well-used books sat beneath neatly framed photographs, and a large desk dominated the centre of the room.
Everything had its place, reflecting the man behind it.
Breakfast had been... something.
Mostly quiet, because half of them had barely been awake.
Luca had somehow managed to knock over an entire jug of apple juice because he "didn't see it," which made absolutely no sense considering it had been right in front of him.
Carlo had then tried to salvage the situation by flipping a plate of pancakes – for reasons known only to him – but they'd ended up scattered across the table instead.
At least they hadn't hit the floor.
Small wins.
Now we were all here.
Rafael sat behind his desk, composed as though none of that chaos had happened less than an hour ago.
Bianca stood beside him, one hand resting lightly against the edge of the desk, her calm gaze sweeping the room.
The rest of us were scattered around the office, some leaning against the walls, others simply occupying whatever space they'd found.
Dario sat beside me on the sofa, his legs swinging as he looked around with open curiosity, completely unfazed by the shift in atmosphere.
I took in the room automatically before my attention settled on Rafael.
He looked composed, as always, but there was something beneath the surface. A slight tension in his shoulders. The subtle movement of his fingers against one another. Small things most people wouldn't notice.
He was nervous.
That alone told me this conversation mattered.
Dario shifted, his leg brushing mine as he leaned forward slightly. He was curious, I could tell, but for once he stayed quiet. The others remained scattered around the room, watching without speaking, as though they were all waiting for the same thing.
After a moment, Rafael exhaled and looked directly at us.
“Sabrina. Dario,” he said carefully, like he was already thinking three steps ahead of his own words. “There's something I need to tell you.”
He paused briefly before continuing.
“Where you are right now... it's not New York.”
Dario frowned slightly.
Rafael's gaze flicked between us before he continued. “This place – it's a private island. Not somewhere people know about.”
I nodded slowly, pretending to take it in.
“We live here with a few... business partners,” he added.
There it was.
I tilted my head slightly, pretending to think about it.
“Business partners?” I repeated, keeping my tone light, almost curious. “You all live on an island together?”
He hesitated before answering.
“Yes.”
I leaned back into the sofa, crossing my arms loosely as I watched him.
“And that's normal?” I asked, letting a hint of teasing slip into my voice. “Living on a secret island with your business partners?”
Another pause followed, but this one was longer.
Rafael opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly trying to find a version of the truth that wouldn't sound like a lie but also wouldn't reveal too much.
It was almost painful to watch.
I glanced around the room.
Luca looked like he was holding back a grin. Matteo watched with mild amusement. Carlo avoided eye contact completely. No one was stepping in to save him.
I let the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable before sighing softly and shaking my head, a small smile pulling at my lips.
“You know,” I said, my tone easy, almost amused, “you're really bad at this.”
Rafael blinked, completely thrown off.
I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees.
“If you're going to lie,” I added lightly, “at least make it believable.”
The room stilled.
Rafael straightened slightly, clearly caught off guard, his composure slipping for the first time.
“I–what do you mean?” he asked, his words tripping over each other. “Lie? I'm not–what are you–”
He stopped, clearly lost.
Before he could recover, Dante spoke.
“She already knows.”
The room froze.
Rafael turned to him sharply.
“Knows what?”
Dante didn't hesitate.
“About the island. About us.” His gaze flicked briefly towards me before returning to Rafael. “About the mafia.”
Silence crashed over the room.
Luca's mouth dropped open. Carlo looked between Dante and me like he was trying to piece everything together. Even Enzo went still.
Beside me, Dario was completely speechless, his usual energy gone as he looked between everyone.
Matteo was the first to react.
His head snapped towards me, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Valeria,” he said sharply. “She told you, didn't she?”
I met his gaze without hesitation.
“No.”
He frowned, confusion flickering across his face.
“Then how–”
“I knew before I met her,” I cut in, my voice calm but firm enough to stop him. “So don't you go blaming her.”
That shut him up.
The room fell quiet again, but this time it was heavier.
Because now they weren't wondering if I knew.
They were wondering how much.