The next day, Misfortune struck.
Otilla made her move.
She did not raise her voice.
She didn't need to.
The order was written, stamped, and delivered with chilling efficiency.
Lucia Rossi — Arrested.
Charge: Child Labor Violation.
The officers came early, when the city was still yawning awake.
Lucia barely had time to wipe flour from her hands.
"I did nothing wrong," she said, confused, terrified. "My son helped after school—"
They didn't listen.
Handcuffs closed around wrists that had only ever kneaded dough and held her children.
The pastry shop door slammed shut behind her.
Marcello heard the news from a neighbor.
He was sitting up in bed when the words reached him.
Arrested.
Taken.
Lucia.
His hand flew to his chest.
Pain—sudden, crushing, merciless.
He gasped once.
Then again.
The room spun.
Isabella arrived just in time to see her father collapse.
"Papa!"
She dropped to her knees beside him, hands shaking, heart racing too fast to keep up.
The ambulance siren wailed somewhere far away—
Too far.
Her vision tunneled.
The world tilted.
And then—
Nothing.
Andrea was in class when they called his name.
"Rossi," the teacher said sharply. "Go to the office."
He stood, confused, heart pounding for reasons he didn't yet understand.
By the time he reached home, the apartment was chaos.
Neighbors whispering.
Furniture askew.
His sister unconscious on the couch.
"Where's Mama?" he asked, voice breaking.
No one answered.
When he finally understood, something inside him hardened.
Sixteen was too young to carry a family.
But the world didn't care.
That night, Andrea sat on the edge of the bed, fists clenched.
His mother was in custody.
His father was in critical condition.
His sister wouldn't wake.
And Otilla D'Este was smiling somewhere.
He knew it.
There was only one name left.
One person who might stand between them and the end.
"Xavier," Andrea whispered.
Fear crawled up his spine.
Going to him was dangerous.
The General's house.
Otilla's eyes everywhere.
But staying still meant watching his family disappear one by one.
Andrea stood.
Pulled on his jacket.
"I'm sorry," he murmured to the empty room. "I don't know what else to do."
He stepped out into the night.
Each footstep heavier than the last.
A boy walking toward soldiers and power and enemies far too large—
Because love had left him no other choice.
And somewhere, far away, Xavier Hernandez had no idea—
That the war Otilla had started had finally reached the Rossi door.