Mafia's Princess(Under Editing)

Chapter 7

Federico Romano

Niccolò dragged me by my arm down the hallway leading toward the student dormitories. One corridor branched toward the girls' dorms, the other toward the boys'. We halted at the junction, and I looked up at him, confused and slightly breathless.

"Umm... Nico, why are we here?" I questioned, glancing around nervously.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping. "It's lunch hour. Classes will start soon, which means most students will either be in the cafeteria or heading to lectures. The girls' dormitories will be almost empty."

I frowned. "And?"

"We're going to hack into the system, find Ana's room, and check it," he said simply, as if he were suggesting we grab coffee.

My eyes widened. "What? Nico, that's not right," I exclaimed. "That's an invasion of privacy."

He turned to face me fully now, his gaze intense but pleading. "Rico, don't you want to confirm it? Deep down, we already know she's our baby sister. But this—this is the last piece. Once we have it, we can bring our principessa back."

I clenched my jaw, conflicted. Every moral line screamed at me to stop—but my heart overpowered my conscience. Eighteen years. That was how long we had lived with the emptiness, the silence, the unanswered questions.

I sighed heavily and nodded. "Fine. But quickly."

We moved into a quiet corner, and I pulled out my phone, fingers flying over the screen as I hacked into the dormitory system. The university belonged to our family—we could've simply asked the principal—but secrecy mattered. Not yet. Not until we were sure.

"Room number 123," I muttered. "Third floor."

Niccolò smirked. "Mask up. Follow me."

We slipped past the front desk, keeping our heads low, avoiding the elevator and taking the stairs instead. Years of training—growing up Romano—had its advantages. Stealth came naturally.

The third floor was eerily silent. No footsteps. No voices.

We found the door.

Room 123.

I swallowed. "Let's pray she doesn't come back."

"Open it," Niccolò whispered.

The lock clicked open within seconds. We slipped inside and locked the door behind us.

I exhaled shakily. "This feels like we're in some spy movie."

Niccolò chuckled softly. "We're no less than spies."

The room was small but warm. Neat. Organized. Every item placed carefully, as if disorder wasn't allowed to exist.

"She's a neat freak," Niccolò murmured, smiling faintly. "Just like Vincenzo."

My chest tightened.

"Focus," I said quietly. "We don't have time."

I opened the drawers carefully, making sure not to disturb anything. In the second drawer, my fingers brushed against a small box.

"What's this?" I asked.

Niccolò stepped closer. "Open it."

I did.

The sight inside stole the air from my lungs.

Two lens cases. One empty. The other filled with hazel lenses. Beside them sat eye drops and lens solution.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Eighteen years of grief. Of guilt. Of rage.

She was alive.

"She really is..." Niccolò whispered, his voice breaking. "I don't know whether to cry or laugh. Our baby sister... she's alive."

I clenched my fists. "Uncle Ivano," I said through gritted teeth. "He did this. He separated her from us. That bastard will pay."

Niccolò wiped his eyes and straightened. " He's not even worthy of being called our Uncle. Later....First, we leave."

I placed everything back exactly where it was. We exited the room silently, locking the door behind us as if we had never been there.

⸻

That evening, the house felt different.

"Time for dinner, boys," Mom called.

Niccolò was seated in my room, pretending to work, while I sat on the edge of my bed, lost in thought. Relief tangled with fear. What if she didn't want us? What if she had a reason for avoiding us?

"Rico," Niccolò said softly. "Let's go."

I stood up reluctantly from my seat and sighed as we walked out of the room.

We walked downstairs together.

"Are we telling them?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied firmly. "They deserve to know."

The dining room buzzed with conversation as we entered.

"Oh, you're here," Dad said. "Sit down."

"Mom, what's that?" Fabio asked, pointing at a dish.

Mom smiled brightly. "It's a South Korean dish. Dante and I are learning new recipes. When your sister comes home, we want to make things she loves."

My chest ached.

Niccolò cleared his throat. "We have something to say."

The room went silent.

"We were unsure about Ana's eyes," Niccolò began. "But now we know."

I met his gaze. "She wears hazel lenses. Her real eye color is grey."

A beat.

"She is our principessa," we said together.(Princess)

Mom gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. Dad's eyes filled with tears.

"My figlia," he whispered. "She's alive."(Daughter)

"I knew it—not everything can be a coincidence.. name, birth date, age..but now confirming it thrills me..my figlia is alive—well and sound.."dad smiled happy tears in his eyes.

"My baby girl..." Mom murmured.

For the first time in eighteen years, the pain eased.

But deep down, I knew—

The hardest part was yet to come.

                                           ******