Page 6 of Made for Sinners

I loved him.

I hated that I loved him.

The thought of sneaking out, of slipping away into the night like I used to, didn’t even cross my mind. What was the point? The excitement, the thrill of rebellion—it all felt hollow now. I didn’t want to drink or dance or flirt with strangers. I didn’t want to feel anything.

Food lost its appeal, too. I picked at the trays the staff brought to my room, nibbling on crackers or a few bites of fruit before pushing the rest aside. My appetite had vanished, replaced by a gnawing emptiness that no amount of food could fill.

I slept during the day, the hours slipping away in a haze of restless dreams and fitful naps. At night, I lay awake, the silence of the estate pressing down on me like a weight. The only sounds were the faint creaks of the old house settling and the occasional rustle of leaves outside my window.

The nights were the worst.

In the suffocating quiet of the dark, the memories came crashing down like a tidal wave. Dante’s voice, his touch, the way he’d made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in his world. And then the way he’d torn it all away, leaving me shattered and alone.

I cried more than I cared to admit. Silent, gut-wrenching sobs that left me gasping for air, my chest heaving as I clutched my pillow like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

The bruises on my arm faded, but the ache in my chest didn’t.

My brothers tried to check on me, knocking on my door and calling my name, but I ignored them. I couldn’t face their questions, their concern. I couldn’t bear the thought of their pity.

The days blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last. I lost track of time, of the world outside my room. The only thing that tethered me to reality was the faint sound of life continuing on without me—the distant hum of conversation from the dining room, the occasional burst of laughter from Matteo or Tony.

They were moving forward, living their lives, while I was stuck in this endless loop of pain and longing.

I thought about calling Adrianna, about spilling my heart to her the way I had the morning after the wedding. But every time I picked up the phone, I hesitated. She was happy now, starting a new chapter with Michael, and I didn’t want to burden her with my mess.

So I stayed in my room, cocooned in my misery, waiting for... what? For Dante to come back? For the pain to fade? For something—anything—to change?

I didn’t know.

All I knew was that I couldn’t keep going like this.

One night, as I lay in the dark staring at the ceiling, I made a decision. I didn’t know what it would lead to—whether I’d confront Dante, walk away from him, or simply find a way to breathe again. But I couldn’t stay in this limbo any longer.

Because as much as I hated him for breaking me, I hated myself more for letting him.

4

EMILIA

The decision to do something—anything—didn’t come with the clarity I’d imagined. There was no lightning bolt of resolve, no sudden rush of determination. It was quieter, like the faint parting of clouds after a storm—the first fragile hint of light breaking through the shadows.

I didn’t wake up the next morning feeling like a new person. I didn’t leap out of bed with a plan or a sense of purpose. But I did get up. I opened the curtains for the first time in weeks, letting the sunlight spill into my room, its warmth chasing away the cold shadows that had taken residence there.

It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

The estate was unusually quiet as I made my way downstairs, the faint hum of activity from the kitchen the only sound breaking the stillness. I hadn’t been down here in days—maybe weeks—and the house felt almost foreign to me, like I was walking through a place I didn’t quite belong to anymore.

The staff glanced at me as I passed, their expressions a mix of surprise and relief. I could see the questions in their eyes, the unspoken concern they didn’t dare voice. I ignored them, my focus fixed on the grand double doors at the front of the house.

The garden was pristine, the hedges trimmed to perfection, the roses in full, ostentatious bloom. I wandered along the stone path, the crisp morning air sharp in my lungs, as if trying to exhale the weight of my thoughts.

I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to move.

“Emilia.”

The voice stopped me in my tracks, sharp and commanding, and I turned to see my brother Marco standing a few feet away. His arms were crossed over his chest, his dark eyes narrowed as he studied me.

“You’re up early,” he said, his tone casual, though the suspicion behind it was impossible to miss.

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