Chapter 50. Not Like This

The day stretched endlessly.

Margherita tried to keep her hands busy—chopping vegetables beside Rosa, folding linens, dusting the living room bookshelves—but every tick of the clock only tightened the knot in her chest.

Ezio hadn’t returned.

He hadn’t said where he was going, only that he’d be back soon. And everyone seemed to accept that—Rosa’s steady calm, Gabriella’s humming while she sewed by the window—as if this was normal. As if he didn’t walk out into a world that wanted him dead.

But she knew.

This wasn’t a casual errand. It was something darker. Something dangerous. And she was the reason he’d gone.

By dinner, she barely tasted her food. Rosa watched her across the table, eyes soft but sharp.

“You’re quiet tonight,” the woman said.

“I’m fine,” Margherita murmured.

“Liar.” Rosa smiled faintly, reaching over to refill her cup. “He does this often. Disappears for a while, comes back like nothing happened. Don’t waste your