93

93
Rosa’s POV
The guest room smelled like lavender, a scent I recognized as distinctly Emilia’s. Her love for all things calming and soft hadn’t changed. I sat cross-legged on her bed, my suitcase tucked neatly in the corner. Emilia shuffled around the room, fussing with pillows and blankets like she thought I’d complain about the arrangements.
“You don’t have to try so hard,” I teased, a smirk playing on my lips.
She glanced over her shoulder, her expression caught between a laugh and a frown. “I’m not trying hard. I’m just making sure you’re comfortable.”
“Emmy,” I said, using the nickname I’d called her since we were kids, “you could stick me on a couch and call it a night. I’d survive.”
She rolled her eyes but finally stopped adjusting the already-fluffed pillows. “Fine. But don’t complain if you get cold.”
“Noted.”
She climbed into bed beside me, curling her legs under the blanket. For a moment, we sat in silence, the dim glow of the bedside lamp reflecting on the walls. It felt surreal being here, in this mansion that screamed power and wealth, catching up with the same girl who used to braid my hair in a tiny apartment over a bakery.
“So,” I began, breaking the quiet, “what’s it like living here?”
Emilia shrugged. “It’s… complicated. Alaric isn’t what I expected.”
“Good or bad?”
“Both, I think,” she admitted. “He has moments where he’s almost normal, you know? But then he reminds me who he is and what kind of world I’ve stepped into.”
I raised an eyebrow. “And Allesio?”
Her face twisted into a grimace. “Don’t get me started.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Still the same Emilia-avoiding the questions she doesn’t want to answer.”
Her smile faltered for a second before returning. “I’m serious. Allesio’s trouble. Stay away from him.”
“Duly noted,” I said, though I could still feel the weight of his gaze from earlier.
We fell into another comfortable silence, the kind that only years of friendship could create. But as I sat there, the question I’d been holding back since I arrived finally pushed its way to the surface.
“Why didn’t you come to me?” I asked quietly.
She turned her head, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“When Matteo needed the surgery,” I said, my voice firmer now. “Why didn’t you come to me? You know I would have helped you.”
Her expression shifted, guilt flickering in her eyes before she looked away. “Rosa, it wasn’t that simple.”
“Yes, it was,” I countered. “I could’ve wired you the money in an instant. You didn’t have to go through whatever hell you went through to end up here.”
She shook her head, her hands twisting the blanket between her fingers. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
My chest tightened at her words. “A burden? Emmy, you’re like a sister to me. How could you ever think that?”
“It’s not just about you,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “It’s about me. I needed to figure things out on my own. I needed to prove that I could take care of him without leaning on anyone else.”
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. “And look where that got you. You’re living in a mafia house, surrounded by men who-”
“I’m fine,” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “Matteo is fine. That’s what matters.”
Her words hit me harder than I expected. She wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make it easier to accept.
“You’re stubborn, you know that?” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
She managed a small smile. “I’ve had good competition.”
I reached out, squeezing her hand. “Next time, just ask. Okay? I don’t care what it’s for. I’ll always help you.”
Her eyes softened, and she nodded. “Okay.”
For a while, we just talked-about Matteo, about the bakery I hadn’t seen in years, about the small, mundane things that made up our lives before all of this. Emilia’s laughter was a balm, soothing the ache of time and distance that had grown between us.
Eventually, the conversation shifted back to me.
“So,” she said, her tone mischievous, “what’s life like in the Smith syndicate these days? Still the queen of chaos?”
I snorted. “Hardly. My father’s been breathing down my neck lately, trying to teach me ‘the art of diplomacy.'”
“Diplomacy,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Is that code for making people disappear?”
I grinned. “Not always. Sometimes it just means knowing what to say to keep the peace.”
She shook her head, her laughter soft and disbelieving. “I still can’t believe you’re a part of that world now. You used to talk about escaping it.”
“I did,” I said, my voice quieter. “But escaping it wasn’t as easy as I thought. When you’re born into it, it’s hard to shake off. You can run, but you always end up turning back.”
She was silent for a moment, clearly trying to process the shift in the conversation. “So, what’s your role now? Are you, like, a boss yet?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “God no. I’m still… learning. But my dad has made it clear that sooner or later, I’m going to have to take on more responsibilities. He says I’m the heir to everything, even if I don’t always want it.”
Emilia’s eyes softened. “Does that scare you?”
I let out a breath, the weight of her question lingering longer than it should have. “It does,” I confessed. “But not as much as it should. I don’t think I’m made for it, Emmy. I don’t think I have the patience for all the backstabbing and politics. But my father… he doesn’t really give me a choice.”
“Maybe he’s trying to make you strong,” she suggested gently.
“Maybe. Or maybe he just wants to make sure I’m ready to take over when the time comes.”
She looked at me for a long time, her expression thoughtful. “I guess we’re both stuck in situations we didn’t choose.”
I smiled at her. “Yeah. But at least we’ve got each other.”
“Always.”