Chapter Seventeen
Sabrina
I stand in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of the skirt yet again.
A skirt.
If I'd known this school required such a strict uniform, I might have thought twice about coming. I don't care that it's an elite academy hidden on a private island or that most people don't even know it exists. What I care about is being expected to dress like this.
We're isolated from the rest of the world. There's no one here to impress and no audience to judge us.
The uniform isn't about appearances.
It's about control.
I turn slightly, studying myself from the side. The white button-up shirt is crisp and fitted, and the short sleeves leave the edge of my skull-and-butterfly tattoo fully visible on my right arm.
At least they didn't cover that.
My gaze drops to the skirt, and the grimace that crosses my face is immediate.
It falls to mid-thigh, with shorts hidden underneath, but that doesn't make it any better.
My legs are fully exposed, scars and all.
Faded lines cross my skin alongside older, sharper marks that tell stories most people would rather hide.
I've never been one of them.
The scars don't bother me. They never have. They're proof of everything I've survived, of every time I kept going when I should've fallen apart.
My gaze lifts back to the mirror. Long brown hair falls past my shoulders, slightly unruly from lack of effort, while grey eyes stare back at me, unimpressed by the uniform and already exhausted by a day that hasn't even started.
Behind me, the blazer hangs untouched over the chair.
I glance at it before looking away.
Absolutely not.
There isn't a universe in which I'm voluntarily putting that thing on.
The only redeeming feature of the entire outfit is the shoes. Trainers. Actual trainers rather than the stiff dress shoes schools usually force people to wear.
At least someone involved in this process had one decent idea.
With a sharp exhale, I run a hand through my hair and grab my bag. The uniform still looks ridiculous, but standing here glaring at it isn't going to change anything.
Apparently, this is my life now.
The smell of food hits me the second I step into the kitchen, warm and sweet enough to cut through everything else.
Underneath it is the usual morning noise: chairs scraping, low conversation and someone tapping something against the table in an off-beat rhythm that's already starting to irritate me.
Carlo, Luca, Matteo and Leonardo are all slouched around the table as though they've been there for hours and have no intention of moving anytime soon.
Leonardo is practically folded over the table, half-asleep with his head resting on his arm.
Matteo looks like he regrets being awake, Luca is scrolling through his phone, and Carlo–
Carlo looks up the second I walk in and grins.
“There she is,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “About time. Thought you were never going to leave your room.”
I drop into the chair across from him.
“Yeah,” I reply flatly. “I was considering it. Seemed like the better option.”
Luca snorts under his breath, and Matteo lets out a quiet laugh as he drags a hand down his face. Carlo simply shakes his head, still amused.
“Rough morning?”
I glance down at my outfit before looking back at him.
“What do you think?”
That's all it takes. Luca finally looks up from his phone.
“Yeah, no. The uniform's a joke.”
“Agreed,” Matteo mutters. “Who decided this was necessary?”
Carlo gestures vaguely at all of us.
“We're literally on an island. Who are we trying to impress??
“Exactly,” I say, leaning back slightly. “No one's watching. No one cares. But yeah, let's all dress like we're trying to win academic awards.”
“It's for ‘discipline,’” Luca says, clearly mocking the word.
“It's for control,” I correct, my tone flat.
That earns me a brief look from Carlo, something more thoughtful this time, but before he can say anything, movement catches my attention.
I turn towards Dario as he makes his way to the table, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he carefully carries a plate in both hands. A small stepping stool has been pushed back near the counter where he'd been standing beside Bianca, who's still finishing something else.
He moves slowly, like one wrong step will ruin everything. When he finally reaches the table, he sets the plate down in front of his seat, pauses, then deliberately slides it towards me.
I blink, looking down at it before glancing back at him.
“Is this for me?”
He nods immediately, a small, proud smile spreading across his face.
“It's your first day at a new school,” he says, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. “I wanted to make you breakfast. I helped Mama.”
Mama.
The word still feels new.
A couple of days ago, he wasn't saying it. He called Bianca by her name, and Rafael too, as though he wasn't entirely sure what they were supposed to mean to him. It makes sense. Everything is new to him. He's never had anyone to call that before.
Now he does.
And he says it so easily, as though the word has always belonged to him.
I hold his gaze for a moment longer before lowering my eyes to the plate.
Waffles are stacked unevenly, covered in raspberries and far too much maple syrup, like he's emptied the entire bottle over them.
I pick up the fork and cut off a piece, taking a bite. It's sweet – almost cloying – but I don't react. I simply swallow and nod once as I look back at him.
“It's good.”
His entire face lights up.
“And you didn't burn anything,” I add. “That's impressive.”
“I helped,” he repeats immediately, like that's the only part that matters.
“I can tell.”
He beams at that, practically vibrating where he stands.
And I eat the rest of it. Every single bite.
Because he's watching me like it matters.
For him, it does.
The kitchen door opens again, and footsteps follow. Rafael walks in first, with Dante, Salvatore and Enzo behind him.
Leonardo finally moves, lifting his head from the table like it physically pains him to be awake. His eyes drag lazily across the room until they land on my right arm – and stop.
His gaze sharpens instantly, whatever sleep was left in him disappearing just as quickly. He straightens slightly, staring properly now.
“You have tattoos,” he says, like he's just realised something important.
I glance at him briefly before returning to my waffle as though it isn't worth the attention.
“Observant.”
Luca leans forward slightly, interest sparking.
“How many?”
I take my time finishing the bite before answering. Then I look up and meet his gaze.
“You'll have to wait and find out.”
Before anyone can say anything else, Bianca's voice cuts through the room.
“Alright, that's enough,” she says, already moving towards us with purpose. “Everyone up. Now.”
A collective groan follows.
Carlo barely moves, still slouched in his chair.
“No.”
“Yes,” Bianca replies immediately, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him halfway out of his seat. “It's Sabrina's first day. We're taking a picture.”
“I'm not five,” I mutter.
She ignores me completely.
“Up,” she repeats, sharper this time, gesturing towards the door like we don't have a choice.
Luca sighs but stands, slipping his phone into his pocket. Matteo follows, dragging himself upright with zero enthusiasm, while Leonardo takes a second longer, pushing himself up slowly. His eyes flick back to me briefly.
I grab my bag and stand, already regretting this.
Bianca ushers us towards the front of the house, fixing things as we go – straightening Carlo's shirt, adjusting Matteo's collar and brushing something invisible off Luca's shoulder.
When she reaches me, she pauses, her eyes flicking over the uniform, the skirt and the missing blazer I'd shoved into my bag.
She doesn't comment. She simply gives me a small, knowing look before stepping back.
“Stand there,” she says, pointing.
I do, mostly because arguing will only drag this out longer. Carlo ends up on one side of me, Luca on the other, while Matteo and Leonardo hover nearby, none of them looking particularly thrilled about being involved in this.
Bianca lifts her phone, already framing the shot.
“Smile,” she says.
No one does.
She narrows her eyes slightly.
“At least try to look like you don't hate each other.”
“That's asking a lot,” Carlo mutters.
Then Bianca glances behind her.
“Dario,” she calls. “Come here, baby. You're in this too.”
He's been standing just behind her the whole time, watching. The second she says it, he lights up and runs over without hesitation, heading straight towards me.
I glance down at him, and without really thinking about it, I smile. Just a little.
Bianca's expression softens for a split second before she lifts the phone and takes the picture, catching it perfectly.
The moment disappears almost as quickly as it comes.
I look away first, my expression settling back into something neutral, as though it never happened. But Dario is still holding my hand.
And I don't pull away.