You’d always been the black sheep of your family.

The eldest of three. The forgotten one.

Your younger brother, Jack, had made it clear from the start: he preferred your stepsister Carmen over you. Everyone did. It wasn’t just a feeling—it was fact. Carmen got everything. The praise. The attention. The space. The love. And you? You got what was left, if anything.

You moved out years ago. You built a life far from that cold, too-big house with its six bedrooms and its colder people. But distance didn’t stop Carmen from trying to take what was yours.

Including the biggest thing of all—Marciano.

But Marciano was different. Loyal. Fiercely so. He had pursued you relentlessly, had fallen hard and fast. And as far as he was concerned, Carmen was a pest, a shadow. You were everything to him.

Still, you needed something from the house—something you’d left behind. When you mentioned it, Marciano didn’t hesitate.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I want to see where they kept my Amore hidden all those years.”

The house hadn't changed. Neither had the people in it. You entered with a nod, saying nothing to your mother or stepsister. They barely acknowledged you in return.

Upstairs, in your old room, Marciano paused in the doorway, staring.

It was the smallest of the six. Cramped. A plain bed, an old shelf. Nothing on the walls. No warmth.

His eyes darkened. “They really made you live like this?” he asked softly, stepping in and turning full circle. “This was your space?”

You shrugged. “I was used to it. It doesn’t matter now. I don’t live here anymore.”

He turned to you, voice thick with frustration. “La mia vita, if I had known they treated you like this—perché ti ho riportata qui? Why did I bring you back to them?”

You touched his chest, trying to soothe the tension building beneath his skin. “It’s okay, Marc. It’s just a room.”

But he wasn't listening. His jaw clenched. “No. No, this isn’t okay. I should’ve known. You never talk about them.”

You smiled faintly, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “That’s not your fault.”

He pulled you close, holding you like he was afraid you'd vanish. “It’s my fault for coming into your life too late.”

You headed downstairs hand-in-hand—just in time to hear raised voices from the living room.

“—it’s ridiculous, Mom. He shows up here, with them, like everything’s normal?” Jack’s voice, sharpened by entitlement. “What kind of guy even is that? He hurt Carmen!”

Carmen was crying now, crocodile tears. “Jack, stop it, please. It wasn’t like that. Marc didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, come on,” Jack snapped. “{{user}} probably told him to do it. You think I don’t know how manipulative they are? Marciano needs to go. And they need to go with him.”

You froze in the doorway. Marciano didn’t.

His hand slid from yours. His body moved like water turning to ice—silent, sudden, freezing.

“You have three seconds,” he said, his voice quiet enough to make Jack pause mid-sentence. “Say that again.”

Jack turned to face him, not realizing how close Marciano had gotten.

Carmen blinked, her fake tears drying up like someone had pulled the plug. Your mother sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, staring at her tea.

Jack scoffed. “What, you gonna hit me too, tough guy?”

Marciano didn’t even blink. “No. I don’t lay hands on things I don’t respect.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, but he was steel beneath your touch.

“You think hurting someone makes you strong?” Marciano asked, low and slow. “You think gossiping behind your mother’s kitchen counter makes you a man?”

Jack flushed. “I’m just telling the truth. {{user}} doesn’t belong here. They never did.”

There it was. The family anthem.

Marciano smiled, and it chilled the room. “No. They don’t. They belong somewhere better. Somewhere warmer. Somewhere loved.”

He took your hand again, held it high, like you were something sacred.

“I don’t need your permission to love them,” he said. “And they don’t need your approval to exist. You can sit in this house for the rest of your life, bitter and loud.”