𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 ✔︎

"Freedom"

Rosalie's POV

"I've never felt so alone."

I pushed myself up from my bed, my chest tight with the weight of my thoughts. The stress clung to me like a second skin as I made my way to the bathroom, falling into the rhythm of my usual morning routine. Once I was done, I headed downstairs for training—just like every other day.

As I stepped out of my room, a blur of energy came sprinting toward me.

"Rosie!" Leo's voice rang out, his face lit with a bright, toothy grin.

I chuckled at the nickname. He'd struggled to pronounce my full name when he was younger, and somehow, it had stuck ever since.

Crouching down, I wrapped my arms around his small frame. "Hey, little dude. How'd you sleep?" I asked, smiling down at him.

His chubby cheeks puffed up as he grinned. "Good! But I left Mr. Teddy on the couch last night." His expression shifted into a pout, wide eyes pleading for sympathy.

I laughed softly, lifting him with ease. "You know you're my favorite, right?" I teased, winking at him.

Leo giggled as I pressed a playful kiss to his cheek, settling him onto my hip before heading downstairs. The moment we reached the bottom step, he threw his arms out dramatically.

"I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Shaking my head, I chuckled and gently set him down on the couch beside Mr. Teddy.

"Rosalie!" My mother's voice carried from the kitchen.

Turning my head, I spotted her at the stove, busy with breakfast. A familiar warmth filled my chest as I skipped over to the island and plopped down onto a stool. The scent of sizzling bacon filled the air, making my stomach rumble.

"Ahh, bacon." I sighed contentedly, grinning.

She chuckled, shaking her head as she scooped food onto my plate. "You have training in an hour. Your clothes are already laid out in your closet," she said, her tone casual as she prepared another plate.

Just hearing the word training made my stomach churn. I appreciated everything my parents did for me—I really did—but I'd been training my entire life. I was exhausted. I wanted more. But they'd never go for it. It was always the same speech: "You're the daughter of the most dangerous crime boss in Italy. It's not safe for you to be alone."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Mom, you know how I feel about training." My voice was steady, but I didn't bother hiding the frustration in my eyes.

She hesitated for a moment before offering a small frown. "Sweetheart, you know your father won't let you walk away from it."

A sharp wave of irritation rolled through me, and before I could stop myself, I slammed my hands onto the counter.

"Maman, j'en ai tellement marre que papa me dise quoi faire, je ne suis plus sa petite fille!" I snapped. (Mom, I'm so tired of Dad telling me what to do. I'm not his little girl anymore!)

The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake. My mother's gaze shifted behind me, and I could feel the weight of his presence before I even turned around.

Swallowing hard, I slowly pivoted in my seat, my hands twisting together under the table. My father stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable—except for the unmistakable glint of disappointment in his eyes.

"My sweet Rosalie." His voice was softer than I expected as he walked over, settling into the chair beside me.

"I know you're old enough to be on your own," he admitted, his tone unusually gentle. "But I'm just scared to let you go. You're my oldest girl."