My hand flew instinctively to my forehead, fingers trembling as they brushed against something wet.
Sticky.
Warm.
I pulled my hand back and stared at it.
Blood.
"What the hell—" My voice came out unsteady, barely audible.
"Nice shot, Matteo!" Nico's voice rang out, loud and gleeful.
I blinked, my vision struggling to focus as dizziness washed over me in waves.
When the blur cleared, I saw them.
All six of them.
Standing in a straight line like they had planned it. Like this was a performance.
Gianna. Matteo. Nico. Lucia. Rocco. Alessia.
My babies.
At least… that's what I had always believed.
But the way they looked at me now—
Cold. Mocking. Disgusted.
It was as if I was nothing.
No… worse than nothing.
Like I was something beneath them. Something they had stepped in and couldn't wait to scrape off their shoes.
"What did you throw at me?" I croaked, struggling to stay upright as the room tilted around me.
"A rock," Rocco said with a smirk, completely unapologetic. "Next time, maybe we'll aim lower."
A ripple of laughter followed his words. Six voices in unison, the sound bouncing off the high walls of the Montecarlo estate bedroom like it belonged there. Like cruelty was just another thing this house had taught them.
"You don't belong here," Matteo added, stepping forward slightly, his eyes full of open hostility.
Gianna crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her lips curling. "Wearing Mom's color won't make you her."
"You're a fake," Lucia said softly.
Her voice was quiet, almost gentle, but it cut deeper than all the others combined.
I bit down hard on my lip, so hard I tasted blood again, trying to hold myself together. My left hand found my right wrist and pressed, two fingers digging into the bare skin where my mother's bracelet once sat, the familiar ache of its absence the only steady thing left in my body. "But I raised you—"
"Shut up!" Nico barked, his voice sharp and commanding.
They moved then.
Not chaotically. Not impulsively.
But together.
Like a pack that had practiced this moment.
Before I could even react, bowls were overturned above me.
Something cold and crawling spilled over my head, my shoulders, my arms.
Ants.
Dozens, no, hundreds of them.