“Three days”-that was how long I’d holed up in the spare bedroom of Carlo’s house. Food turned to ash on my tongue, every bite merging with my spit into a gritty, cement-like texture. My own skin felt foreign-itchy and suffocating-but I couldn’t bring myself to shift. The day after the fight, the pack held a ceremony for the fallen. I couldn’t attend. I couldn’t even get out of bed. Facing what I had lost felt impossible.
The grief was unbearable, and a small, wicked part of me hoped Alpha Leonardo was feeling every ounce of the agony crawling through my veins. After everything he’d done to me, he deserved to know what it felt like.
Carlo, Enrico, Vito, Sofia, and Chiara had all come to check on me that day. They didn’t push me to join the ceremony or drag me out of my cocoon of misery. Vito, of all of them, understood the most-he had lost his mom years ago. Carlo’s parents had welcomed me into their home with open arms, his mother even holding me close and whispering promises that I’d get through this. But I wasn’t ready for kindness or hope. I wanted to sink into the dark waters of my grief and let them swallow me whole.
I tried to blame everyone else for what happened-Leonardo for rejecting me, my mom for shielding me instead of saving herself, Beta Tommaso for not moving fast enough to protect her. But deep down, I knew the truth. Strong people saw things clearly, and the truth was that I had caused my mom’s death. My intentions had been good, but my actions had consequences. I had distracted her, made her protect me when she should’ve been looking out for herself.
On the third day, Carlo brought a few things from my house. Despite my protests, a carefully wrapped package sat untouched on the bed. I stared at it for an hour, knowing that whatever memories it held would slice me open all over again.
At last, as if I were handling a bomb, I unwrapped the flimsy paper.
Inside was my dad’s old lyric book-frayed and worn-and the shiny replica Carlo had gifted me last Christmas. Nestled between them was a thin silver necklace my mom had given me for my eleventh birthday: a delicate chain with a wolf charm, perfectly symbolic. I remembered how snug it once fit around my neck, though the years had made it tighter.
I placed the necklace atop my dad’s lyrics book on the nightstand, a pit forming in my stomach at the sight. A shrine to the people I’d lost, sitting right by my bed. I opened the book, letting its brittle pages fan beneath my fingers. It had once been a ritual for me to close my eyes, pick a random song, and believe my dad was somehow guiding my choice. Whether that had ever been true didn’t matter now.
I managed a few bites of fruit that morning, but that was all I could stomach. A couple of hours later, a knock came at the door. As I had the past two days, I ignored it.
Sofia and Chiara let themselves in anyway, knowing full well I wouldn’t answer.
Out of everyone, it was easiest to be around them. They didn’t treat me like I was fragile, didn’t offer hollow condolences or tell me everything would be okay. Carlo, Enrico, and Vito tiptoed around me like I was a bomb ready to explode. They catered to my every need, doing anything to avoid triggering my tears. The effort was sweet but stifling.
Whenever I cried, the three of them scrambled like headless chickens. Enrico would wrap an arm around me, offering food or water. Carlo would pull me close and stroke my hair. Vito, never one for affection, would drape a blanket over my shoulders like I was a sick child. As much as I appreciated their support, it only reminded me of how broken I felt.
If they stopped treating me like a ticking time bomb, maybe I could stop acting like one.
“Get up, Ella. We’re bored,” Sofia whined, flopping down beside me on the bed.
“Enrico’s annoying, and Carlo and Vito are no fun-they’ve been glued to that stupid video game all day.”
“And you think I can pull them away from it?” I scoffed, a weak chuckle slipping out.
Chiara stood with her hands on her hips, her expression sharp. I must’ve looked awful-dark circles beneath my eyes, my skin pale from exhaustion. I could tell from her tight-lipped expression that she was gearing up to give me a piece of her mind.
“The kids are safe, by the way,” Chiara said matter-of-factly. “And you’re coming shopping with us.”
“Shopping?” I sighed, glancing between her stern face and Sofia’s gleaming one. “I have clothes.”
“You call that tattered shirt clothes?” Sofia scoffed, pointing to the oversized tee I wore.
Carlo’s mom had lent me some clothes, and Carlo had brought a few things from my house. But I couldn’t handle my mom’s lingering scent on them. They ended up in the trash without a second glance.
“I might not be a warrior, but I can drag your butt out of that bed,” Chiara huffed, arms crossed over her chest.
“Fine,” I groaned, reluctantly pushing myself off the mattress. As comfortable as the bed was, it hadn’t given me any real rest.
Sofia tossed me a blouse and a pair of jeans, grinning. “You’re not going anywhere in that ragged shirt. And no, these aren’t from your house-no scent.”
Grateful, I took the clothes to the bathroom. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to rinse away some of the exhaustion that clung to me. My reflection looked worse than I expected-chapped lips, tear-streaked cheeks, and eyes circled with shadows.
When I returned, Sofia was smug. “Told you our argument was foolproof.”
“There was no argument,” I muttered as I slipped into the fresh clothes.
“Exactly!” Sofia snickered. “Worked like a charm.”
“I don’t have any money,” I admitted quietly, the weight of my new reality pressing down on me. With my mom gone, we were broke-and I was officially an orphan.
“Good thing Carlo’s mom gave us her credit card,” Sofia said, holding it up with a mischievous grin.
With that, they dragged me out of the room, not giving me a chance to protest.
Carlo poked his head out of the gaming room, his headset askew. “Where are you going?”
“Girl’s day,” Sofia replied, shooing him away.
After some light bickering, we were on our way. I stared out the car window, watching trees blur by as Sofia drove us into the city, far from pack territory. I knew she was avoiding the place where my mom had died, and her silent kindness squeezed my heart.
At the salon, I let them trim my waist-length hair, adding soft curls and layers. I endured a painful eyebrow waxing, and while they got their nails done, I sat beside them, soaking in their chatter.
When Sofia nudged Chiara to join warrior training, I surprised myself by speaking up.
“I want to join, too,” I said. The words left my mouth without hesitation, carrying the weight of certainty.
Chiara hesitated, concern flickering in her gaze. “You sure you don’t want to wait until you’re feeling better?”
“I don’t want to wait,” I replied. I needed something-anything-to fill the hollow ache inside me.
Sofia’s playful demeanor turned serious. “You know it’s tough, right? One month of basic training, then a tournament. Only the top ten move on.”
For the first time in days, I felt a flicker of purpose.
“I’ll meet you at Carlo’s tomorrow,” Sofia said with a nod. “Training starts then.”
And for the first time since my mom died, I felt like I could breathe again.