~The lost one~

Chapter 40

(Hours passed, and the quiet of the night settled in...)

The night was unusually quiet, the kind of stillness that amplifies your own thoughts until they become unbearable. I lay in the oversized bed, my body sinking into the plush mattress, but sleep was elusive. The soft silk of the pajamas I was given brushed against my skin, foreign yet luxurious. I'd never owned anything like them before. Hell, I'd never slept in a bed this big before.

The walls felt like they were closing in, every corner of the room filled with reminders that I didn't belong here. I sat up, tossing the thick duvet aside, my bare feet hitting the cool hardwood floor. The clock on the nightstand blinked back at me: 00:37 AM. I didn't know what to do with myself—my mind racing with thoughts of today's dinner, Vittorio's speech, and the brothers watching me like I was some puzzle they couldn't solve.

I slipped on a pair of slippers at the foot of the bed and wrapped myself in a robe of pure silk, soft and smooth like water against my skin. It shimmered in deep midnight blue, with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. The satin belt cinched at my waist, cocooning me in quiet luxury—elegant, yet effortlessly comfortable. The cool night air hit my skin as I quietly opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. I didn't know where I was going—I just needed to move. My mind was too loud, and this mansion was too quiet.

As I wandered down the long corridor, my fingers traced the intricate patterns carved into the walls, the artwork hanging between gilded frames, and the ornate vases standing on pedestals. Everything felt so heavy with history, so untouchable. I passed by rooms I hadn't explored yet, the doors closed, their secrets locked away.

I paused outside a door that was slightly ajar. Curiosity tugged at me. I wasn't one to snoop, but something about the way the door stood half-open made it feel like an invitation. I pushed it gently, revealing a small, cozy room. It was nothing like the grand halls or extravagant rooms I'd seen so far. This one felt... lived in.

A soft glow came from a lamp on a desk in the corner. On the desk, there were stacks of papers, and beside it, an old leather-bound book caught my eye. I moved toward it, my fingers brushing the worn cover before opening it slowly. It wasn't a book—it was a photo album.

The pages crackled as I turned them. There were pictures of the brothers when they were younger—Luca with his arm around a smaller version of Enzo, Antonio grinning with a rare openness, Giovann's wild curls untamed even back then. My breath hitched when I saw the last picture on the page. Vittorio was younger, holding a little girl. She couldn't have been older than five, her brown hair falling into her bright green eyes.

I swallowed hard, realizing it was me.

---

My fingers trembled as I closed the album, placing it gently back on the desk. I felt a lump in my throat, a mixture of emotions I couldn't name. Part of me wanted to cry, but the other part of me was just numb. These people... they were my family, but it didn't feel real. I was a stranger in my own story.

"Couldn't sleep?"

I jumped at the voice, spinning around. Luca stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest, his usual casual smirk softened by the low light. His hair was tousled like he had just woken up, and he was wearing a plain black T-shirt and sweatpants, looking so normal for someone who terrified half of Italy.

"I—uh, yeah. Couldn't sleep," I stammered, quickly wiping at my eyes, hoping he didn't notice the wetness there.

He walked further into the room, his eyes flicking to the photo album on the desk. He didn't say anything about it, though. Instead, he picked up a small paperweight from the desk and toyed with it for a moment, as if trying to figure out what to say.