Chapter 4 FOUR

The Rossi kitchen was a soft hum of familiarity-faded floral curtains swaying in the breeze, the kettle hissing softly, her mother's hands rhythmically peeling potatoes. It was a world untouched by the dark deal Emilia had just made.

"Emi, you're late," her mother said, glancing up with a tired smile. "You missed lunch."

"I wasn't hungry," Emilia replied, her voice low. Her feet felt heavy as if her ankles were tied to everything she was about to leave behind.

Her little sister Sofia ran up and hugged her waist. "Did you sell another painting?"

Emilia forced a smile, stroking the girl's tangled curls. "Not today."

She sat at the kitchen table, her father across from her, his eyes shadowed with guilt. He couldn't even meet her gaze.

"I saw him today," she said flatly.

Silence fell like snowfall.

Her mother dropped the peeler. "You mean... him?"

Emilia nodded. "He gave me a choice."

Her father looked up, pain etched into the lines of his face. "Emilia, I never meant-"

"I know," she interrupted gently. "You did what you had to."

Her mother's eyes brimmed with tears. "And what did you do, cara?"

"I said yes," Emilia whispered. "Three days from now... I'll be his wife."

Sofia giggled, not understanding. "You're getting married? Can I wear a dress too?"

No one answered her.

Her mother covered her mouth, shaking her head. "No... this isn't right. This isn't love."

"It's survival," Emilia replied, staring at the worn wood of the table. "And I can survive losing my dreams. I can't survive losing any of you."

Her father bowed his head. "I'm so sorry, Emilia."

She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "Then make this worth it. Keep the shop open. Take care of them."

Then she stood.

Because if she sat a moment longer, she'd break.

And a woman about to marry a mobster didn't have the luxury of breaking.