The Little Princess of the Marchesi Clan

Emilia's heart pounded in her chest, the overwhelming fear and desperation urging her to act. She couldn't go back. She couldn't go back to that hellish existence. Her adoptive parents—Carlos and Maria—had inflicted pain on her every day of her life, treating her like a servant, a burden, nothing more than a filthy maid who was worth nothing. The thought of returning to that cruelty, of enduring another day of their hatred and violence, was too much for her to bear.

With a scream of desperation, Emilia pushed herself to her feet. She felt her legs shake beneath her as she tried to make a run for it. But she wasn't fast enough.

Isabella, who had been kneeling next to her, gasped and reached out in a futile attempt to stop her. Emilia didn't care; she kept moving, ignoring the hand that grasped at her torn clothes. The fabric was so thin, so worn, that it gave way immediately, the rip echoing through the room like a death sentence.

"Let me go!" Emilia cried, her voice thick with tears as she struggled against Isabella's grip.

Isabella sat back on the floor, stunned by the force of Emilia's determination. Her hands were trembling as she stared at the girl who had fought so hard to escape.

The room fell silent as Alessandro stopped eating. He had been watching the scene unfold, but now his gaze was fixed on Emilia. His sharp eyes took in every detail—the gauntness of her face, the hollow look in her eyes, the way she flinched at every touch. But it was the sight of her back that made him freeze, his fork hovering in mid-air.

Emilia's back was a map of suffering. Scars crisscrossed her skin like the lines of a tortured soul. They were fresh, some still raw, while others had long since faded, leaving behind ugly reminders of the abuse she had endured. Cuts, bruises, lash marks—the evidence of years of torment was laid bare for all to see.

Isabella's breath caught in her throat. She slowly reached out, her hands trembling as she touched the torn fabric of Emilia's clothes. With a gentle but firm motion, she pulled the remnants of the fabric off, exposing the child's mutilated back. Tears sprang to Isabella's eyes, her heart shattering as she realized the full extent of the pain Emilia had endured.

"Luca!" Isabella cried, her voice rising in fury. "Is this what you want? To send her back to that place? After seeing this?"

Luca's gaze was fixed on Emilia's back, and for the first time, his expression softened. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—anger, disbelief, and an undeniable sense of guilt.

"How could you?" Isabella continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "She's just a eight-year-old child. Look at what they've done to her! What kind of parents would do this?"

Luca's gaze shifted to the floor. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't wanted to see this. It was too much—too much for him to process in that moment. He had been so stubborn, so focused on the idea of returning Emilia to her adoptive parents. But now, with the weight of the truth crashing down on him, he was left speechless.

Emilia, still trembling, her tears mingling with the sweats that had soaked her face, stepped back. She didn't want them to fight over her. She didn't want to cause trouble. But the thought of going back to her abusers, the people who had treated her as nothing more than a tool for their own desires—it was unbearable.

"I don't want you to fight because of me," she whispered, her voice small and fragile, barely audible above the tension in the room.

But Isabella didn't listen. She gathered Emilia into her arms, her movements protective as she cradled the small, frail body. Emilia's heart raced at the feeling of being held in such a way—gentle, kind, but foreign to her.

Luca stood motionless, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. He had always been firm in his decisions, always believed that doing what was necessary was the right thing. But now, in the face of this innocent child's pain, he couldn't ignore the overwhelming sense of guilt that gnawed at him.

His voice was barely a whisper as he turned to Dario. "Investigate her. Find out everything about her adoptive parents. And get me their names."

Dario nodded and left the room without a word, his expression unreadable.

Luca's gaze shifted back to Emilia, his chest tightening as he saw the bruises on her arms, the deep sorrow in her eyes. He looked at Isabella, who was now holding the girl protectively in her arms.

"She's too young to have endured such a thing," Luca murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Isabella's eyes were still brimming with tears, but she nodded. "I'll make sure she never has to go back."

Luca's hand reached for the jacket draped over the back of his chair. Without a word, he pulled it off and handed it to Isabella. "Put this on her. She's freezing."

As Isabella draped the jacket over Emilia's shoulders, Luca sat down next to her at the table. The sight of the girl, still trembling in Isabella's arms, gnawed at him. He reached out, pulling Emilia gently onto his lap, his large hands warm against her fragile form.

She stiffened at first, her fear evident, but as he spoke softly to her, she slowly relaxed. "I'm not going to hurt you," Luca said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I'm going to take care of you."

Emilia glanced up at him, her eyes wide with confusion. She had never heard such words in her life, not from anyone who had held power over her.

As Luca carefully placed a spoonful of food in her mouth, Emilia hesitated before eating. Her stomach growled in protest, but her body was too weak to resist. She took the food, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a small spark of hope.

Alessandro stood up, his expression still unreadable, and left the room without a word. He had seen enough for one morning.

Isabella sat down beside them, her gaze never leaving Emilia. She had so many questions, so many things she wanted to know. What kind of parents had raised this girl? How had she survived?

But all she could do now was hold her, protect her, and try to give her the care and love she had been denied for so long.

Luca, lost in his thoughts, continued to feed Emilia, his mind still processing everything he had seen. He had never been this unsure of anything in his life. But one thing was certain—Emilia would never go back to that place. Not while he was around.

As the minutes passed, the room fell into a heavy silence. Isabella's gaze flickered between Luca and Emilia, her heart heavy with the knowledge of the horrors this child had faced. She didn't know how to fix the brokenness inside of her, but she would try. She had to. For Emilia.

As the last bite of food disappeared from Emilia's plate, Luca leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her. He was no longer the cold, calculating man he had once been. Something in him had shifted, something broken and fragile had been awakened.

And now, he would fight to protect this girl, no matter the cost.