My throat felt tight. I held the shawl for a second longer and slowly, I took it off. My hands felt cold the moment it left my skin.
I stepped forward and handed it over.
Ambra took it, her expression soft, almost guilty.
"Thank you… I'll have it cleaned and return it to you."
"No," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Don't wash it yourself. It can't be soaked. It needs special care. I'll have someone pick it up tomorrow."
"Oh, okay," she nodded gently.
The car pulled up outside, headlights cutting through the rain. One of the soldiers held an umbrella at the rear door.
Domenico glanced at her again, noticing her pale face.
Then he looked at me.
"Ambra's not feeling well," he said, already opening the car door for her. "I'm taking her home first. It's not on the way for you, so just go back yourself."
I didn't even get the chance to answer.
He helped her into the car, careful, like she might break.
The car door shut, the engine started, and the black sedan disappeared into the rain like I was never there. I stood at the entrance of the estate, my dress getting soaked, the cold wind cutting straight through me. The streets beyond the compound gates were empty, rain pouring so hard it blurred everything. I waited… and waited. Forty minutes before I could even get a car. By the time I got home, I was shaking, completely drenched, my head spinning. My forehead burned but I still forced myself to take some medicine, then I just dropped onto the bed and passed out.
Sometime in the night, my phone kept vibrating. Again and again. I heard it but I couldn't move. My head hurt too much, my body too heavy. I just let it ring until it finally stopped.
The next morning, the fever went down a little, but my throat felt like sandpaper. I sat up slowly, took a sip of water, then reached for my phone. There were more than a dozen messages.
All from Ambra.
My fingers paused… then I opened them.
The first photo hit me like a slap.
My shawl.
The hand-embroidered Sicilian shawl my grandmother made was completely soaked, twisted, ruined. The delicate stitching looked wrong, clumped and stretched like it was destroyed.
More messages popped up.
"Oh my god I'm so sorry, I forgot the embroidery can't be soaked so I just left it in water when I got home."
"I feel really bad… how much was it? I'll pay you back. The fabric's nice though, maybe I can reuse it and turn it into something else."
"If you're not replying I'll just assume it's fine, okay? I'll send you 2 dollars. Since you said your grandma made it, it shouldn't be that expensive right?"
The last photo loaded.
My hands started shaking.
The shawl was cut.
Not just ruined but cut into pieces. Strips. Like someone took their time destroying it.
My chest tightened and something snapped inside me.
I threw the covers off and got up, not caring that my body still felt weak. I grabbed my coat and walked out.
When I got to her place, I didn't even hesitate. I rang the doorbell hard, my fingers cold but steady.
The door opened.
Ambra stood there, wearing something simple, her face soft and surprised. "Serafina? You came all the way here? Is something wrong?"
"Where's my shawl?" I asked, my voice flat.
She blinked, then turned casually and picked something up from the couch. The pieces. "You mean this? I already paid you for it, didn't I?"
She glanced at her phone. "Oh, you didn't accept the transfer? Was it too little? I can add more. I mean it was handmade by an old woman, it shouldn't be that expensive, right? I'll send you another 2 dollars, okay? It's not really worth much anyway."
Something burned in my chest.
Before I even thought. My hand moved.
Smack!
The sound was loud in the quiet room.
She stumbled back, holding her face, eyes wide. "You… you hit me?"
"You did it on purpose, didn't you?" I said, my voice shaking but sharp. "You soaked it, you cut it, you sent those messages like you didn't know. You think I'm stupid?"
Her eyes filled with tears instantly. She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear, slow and deliberate. "What are you talking about? I really didn't mean to, I was just careless…"
"Careless?" I laughed, but it sounded wrong. "You came back on purpose. You called him at the exact time your mother needed surgery and forced him to make me donate. You stood outside that room and said all those things. You walked in at that exact moment. And now this?"
I stepped closer. "How many things did you plan? How many times did you think I wouldn't fight back?"
"I didn't…" she shook her head, tears falling faster. "I really don't understand why you're saying all this…"
"I see through you," I said quietly. "I just didn't bother saying it before. But that doesn't mean you get to keep stepping on me like this."
Her expression flickered for a second, just a second.
Then a voice cut through the room.
Cold. Low. Dangerous.
"Serafina… what the hell are you doing?"
My body went stiff.
I turned around.
Domenico stood in the doorway, his eyes dark and terrifying. The air in the room changed the moment he spoke, like the temperature dropped ten degrees. But when he looked at her…
His voice changed.
"Ambra," he said, stepping forward quickly, his tone softening. "What happened? Why are you crying?"
Ambra sniffed, tears falling as she spoke, her voice shaking like she was about to break. She twisted the story just enough, soft and pitiful, and I watched his face grow colder with every word.
Then he turned to me.
"It's just a shawl," he said, his voice flat, sharp. "Why the hell did you have to hit her over something like that?"
My chest tightened. "Just a shawl?" My voice shook before I could stop it. "Domenico! That's the only thing my grandmother left me. The only one."
He paused.
Just for a second.
Like he didn't expect that.
In five years… I never raised my voice at him. Not once. Not at the Don, not at the man, not at anyone in this world. But now my hands were shaking, my eyes burning, and I didn't even recognize myself.
"Ambra didn't do it on purpose," he said, his tone softening when he looked back at her. "She already paid you, didn't she? What more do you want? If the money's not enough, I'll handle it."
Handle it.
Like everything could be fixed with money.
He pulled out his checkbook, wrote something fast, then held it out to me. "Take it. That should cover it."
I stared at the check.
My chest felt tight, like something was squeezing it slowly, making it hard to breathe.
I didn't move.
He frowned, annoyed, then tore another check and wrote a bigger number, his jaw tightening. "Not enough? Fine. Then take this. Stop making a scene over something so small."
One after another.
More numbers.
More money. Like he was buying silence. Buying me. The way the Family bought everything. The way every ugly truth in this world got sealed under a stack of bills and a warning not to speak of it again.
My fingers finally moved. I took the last check, my hand trembling. I touched the bare skin of my left wrist where my grandmother's shawl had once warmed me, and felt nothing there.
"That's enough," I said quietly.
More than enough.
Domenico… this is enough to end everything between us.
I turned to leave.
But I barely took two steps.
"Stop." His voice cut through me like a blade.
