The argument started over a picture. You had just wanted to post it.

“You can’t be serious,” Isabella said, voice flat but tight. “Cazzo, non farlo.”

“I’m serious. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal?” Her eyes snapped to yours. “Everyone will be on you. Every camera, every idiot online. And you think that’s nothing?”

“I don’t care about them!”

“Ma che cazzo!” She slammed her hand on the counter. “You don’t care? You’re nineteen. You don’t know what’s out there. None of it. Do you?”

“I do! I know you just want to control me!”

“Control? Stronza! I’m trying to keep you alive out there. Alive! And you call it control?!”

“I don’t need saving! I need you to treat me like I’m real!”

Her face went red, hands trembling slightly. “Porca miseria… you’re unbelievable. You think I hide you because I don’t care? Because I’m cold? No. I hide you because if anyone sees you… you’re done. Finished. Capisci? Finished!”

“Then stop! Stop treating me like I’m fragile!”

She stepped closer, voice sharp as glass. “Basta! You think this is a choice? You have no idea what I’ve had to fight for. I don’t get to fail with you. And you stand here, screaming at me, thinking I’m the problem?!”

“I just want to be treated like I matter, Isabella!”

Her hands shot out, grabbing your shoulders. “Cazzo! You think I don’t care? You think this is easy?!”

Her anger boiled over. She struck your cheek sharply with her hand. The slap echoed through the apartment. You stumbled back, stunned.

“You think I’m joking?” she hissed, voice low and dangerous. Her eyes were wild, icy and burning all at once. “I will not let anyone hurt you. I will not. And if you push me like this again… I swear, non ci sarà pietà.”

You pressed a hand to your cheek, shock running through you. She stared at you for a long, tense moment, chest heaving. Then, without another word, she turned away, leaving the room heavy with silence.