chapter 18

Dad's phone rang, cutting through the tension in the air. He answered with a quiet "Hey, brother" before pressing the phone to speaker. "How's the wife?" Marco asked, his tone soft.

"She's doing amazing. How are the boys?" came the response from the other end, a voice almost afraid to speak too loudly.

"They're great. Is everything okay?" Marco asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Before he could continue, a gruff voice broke in, "Want to tell me why we're standing outside your house and no one's answering the door?"

Marco stiffened, eyes widening. "Wait, Dad, you told me next weekend, and we're not home at the moment." I paused, realizing Marco had just referred to someone as *Dad*, which made me recall Alessandro's mention of how the extended de Lucas family often drops in without much notice.

The voice on the phone grew sharper. "Well, where are you, and how long will you be?"

"I'll explain when I get home, but I have to go now," Marco replied, his voice rising slightly in an attempt to avoid confrontation. He ended the call quickly, muttering under his breath, "I'm going to regret that," just as the doctor walked in.

The doctor glanced between us, then smiled slightly. "So we're sending you home, but for the love of God, no jumping out of windows."

Everyone in the room turned their gaze toward me, their expressions full of concern and curiosity. I just shrugged in response.

Marco, smirking, said, "I'll tell you all since Isabella here won't." He continued, "When I came in to check on our dear Isabella, she was about to run-jump out of that very window." He pointed dramatically to the open window behind me. I just smiled sheepishly, rising from the bed.

"Isabella, sit your ass back down-you still need your crutches," Luka, my ever-assertive twin, called out from across the room.

"I don't feel much pain," I muttered. "And I'm not using those damn crutches," I added stubbornly, pointing to the pair lying on the bed beside me.

Marco signed some papers with a flourish, and we all piled into the cars to head home. Diageo and Ryan accompanied us, following us to the house I owned, although I secretly wished they'd come to our home instead. My mind swirled with unanswered questions. Would my extended family accept me? Would they see me as a stranger because of my past? Would they judge me?

The anxiety intensified the closer we got. My ankle was still in a cast, and the crutches I had been begrudgingly given remained unused, resting in the backseat. This was not how I imagined meeting my extended family for the first time-fresh out of the hospital, still limping, still broken in ways I wasn't sure they'd understand.

As we drove up to the house, I saw so many cars in the driveway. The sight made my stomach flip, my nerves pushing me to the edge. There were too many people-and not a single one of them I knew.

When we stepped out of the car, I hesitated at the door. There were too many men, far more than women. I could already feel the anxiety bubbling up as I crossed the threshold.

Inside, I was greeted by a sea of unfamiliar faces. The energy was palpable, mixed with curiosity, surprise, and uncertainty. Marco stepped forward, a reassuring presence in the chaos.

"Everyone, this is my daughter, Isabella," he said warmly. The room fell quiet as every eye turned to me, some with disbelief, others with awe.

There was an elder man, his face weathered by age but his eyes kind, who slowly approached. "Isabella? But... you look so different," he murmured. It was Nonno, his voice thick with emotion as his hands reached out toward me.

Nonna, his wife, followed closely behind. Her graceful hands touched my arm, and she spoke softly, "My sweet girl, we thought we'd never see you again." She smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Marco continued, "She was taken when she was very young. We've all been waiting for this day for so long."

The room shifted, murmurs of surprise spreading like ripples across a still pond. A large, imposing man-one of my uncles-stepped forward, eyes scanning me with something I couldn't quite place. "Isabella, is it really you?" His voice held a mix of tenderness and disbelief.

I smiled hesitantly, trying to find my footing. "Yes, it's me. I'm finally home," I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of the moment.

Then, a younger cousin, his eyes wide with curiosity, approached cautiously. "I've heard stories about you," he said softly, taking a tentative step forward. "But I never imagined I'd meet you like this."

I nodded but didn't speak-my throat tight with emotion as the realization hit me: I was meeting family I had never known, and yet somehow, this was still home. But it wasn't easy. There were so many faces, so many unknowns, and each one carried its own history-its own expectations.

Marco went on to introduce me to the rest of the family, his voice taking on a steady rhythm as he named each of my aunts, uncles, and cousins. "This is Aunt Rosa, Uncle Giovanni, Aunt Lucia, Uncle Riccardo," he said as he gestured to four smiling adults who gave me warm but cautious hugs. Then he continued, listing off the cousins, each one offering me their own form of acknowledgment-some with words, others with quiet, meaningful looks.

I could barely process the names or faces-there were *eighteen* cousins to keep track of. Some were older than me, some much younger, all trying to place me into the puzzle of their family. Many watched me from the sidelines, unsure of how to react, but I could feel a sense of curiosity and-strangely-something else: acceptance.

And then, just as I was trying to steady myself in the whirlwind of introductions, Nonno took my hands in his. His gaze softened, his smile deepening as he said, "Welcome home, Isabella. We've waited so long for you."

For the first time since I'd arrived, I felt a real sense of belonging, and despite all the unknowns, despite the anxiety clawing at my chest, I let myself take in the moment.

Marco didn't stop there. He continued introducing me, making sure I knew exactly who I was meeting. In that sea of new faces, one thing became clearer: no matter how different we all were, there was a bond, a thread that tied us together. Even if I was a stranger to them, we shared a piece of this history.

A part of me that had been lost was finally coming home.The room was still filled with murmurs of surprise and quiet conversations, but I felt a growing warmth from the family surrounding me.Each smile, each hand extended toward me felt like a small thread stitching me into the fabric of this family I never knew. My heart beat a little faster with every introduction.

Marco stood beside me, his arm a steady presence, guiding me through each exchange. I had never felt more out of place, yet somehow, I was starting to feel like I belonged.

"Isabella," Marco said, his voice low, "I know this is a lot. You don't have to speak or explain everything right now. We'll take it one step at a time."

I nodded, grateful for his understanding. I had no idea what I was supposed to say, no clue how to form a connection when I barely understood my place here.

As I was introduced to more cousins, I felt my anxiety start to settle. They were mostly close to my age, some older, some younger, and all seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me. One of the older cousins, named Alessandra, approached me with a warm smile. "I've heard so much about you," she said, her tone soft. "But no one ever told me how beautiful you are."

Her words caught me off guard, and I felt my cheeks flush. "Thank you," I whispered, suddenly feeling like the shy girl I used to be. It was strange they were the ones who had a life I never got to experience, yet here I was, being welcomed in a way I didn't expect.

Alessandra didn't push, instead opting to stand by me as we both watched the bustling room. "It's overwhelming, isn't it?" she asked quietly, understanding the weight of the situation.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "It really is. I never thought I'd meet anyone like this."

Before I could say anything more, a voice interrupted us. "Isabella, come here. I want you to meet someone." Marco gestured to an older man standing near the back of the room, his presence commanding but kind.

"This is your great-uncle Paolo," Marco introduced, his voice full of respect. "He's the one who helped me when I needed guidance."

Great-uncle Paolo extended his hand to me. His face was lined with age, but there was something incredibly warm about the way he looked at me. "It's been too long, Isabella. I'm glad you're finally home."

I reached out, shaking his hand, unsure of how to respond. "Thank you for welcoming me."

He nodded, his gaze softening. "We've all been waiting for this day," he said. "It's not the way we imagined it, but we're just happy to have you back in the family."

Before I could fully process his words, Nonna beckoned us all to gather around the large dining table. "It's time for dinner," she said, her voice booming with authority, but her smile was warm, welcoming.

I hesitated, unsure if I should sit at the adult table or the younger table. But Marco was there, leading me to the seat beside him at the head of the table. "You're with us," he said with a reassuring smile.

As I settled into the seat, I couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. The room was full of people, laughter, and food-so much food. My eyes darted around the table, meeting unfamiliar faces, some of them smiling at me, others quietly observing. I was still a stranger to them, but somehow, the warmth of the room made it feel like I had always been here.

As the food was passed around-plates piled high with pasta, meats, vegetables-I found myself caught in the rhythm of the family. Conversations flowed easily between everyone, and I noticed the deep connection they shared. Even though I had been absent for so long, there was something in the air that told me this was home.

But then, someone from across the table cleared their throat. "So, Isabella," an older cousin named Vincenzo said, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "What was it like for you, growing up? I can't imagine the life you must've led."

The question hit me like a punch to the gut. My heart thudded painfully, and I looked down at my plate, trying to find the right words. Marco's hand rested on mine, a silent reassurance that he had my back.

I hesitated before speaking, my voice low. "It wasn't easy," I began, my fingers tracing the edge of my glass. "But I've learned to survive. I had to."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of my words sinking in. It wasn't the full story. It couldn't be-not here, not now. But it was a start. A tiny crack in the wall I'd built around myself.

"Isabella," another cousin, Matteo, spoke up, his voice gentle, "you don't have to explain everything to us. We're just happy you're here now."

I met his gaze and nodded, grateful for his kindness. It was strange, knowing that they didn't expect me to be perfect, that they didn't want to know the details of my painful past. All they wanted was for me to be a part of their world now.

Dinner continued with laughter and the clinking of glasses, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace-something I hadn't felt in years. I was surrounded by family, by people who, despite everything, were willing to accept me.

When dessert arrived-fruit tarts and creamy cannolis-Nonna stood up, raising a glass. "To Isabella, our long-lost family, finally returned to us," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Everyone around the table echoed her words, and I felt my throat tighten. This wasn't just a family gathering. This was the beginning of something new. Something I wasn't sure I deserved but was willing to try to embrace.

As the evening stretched on, I felt the weight of my past begin to lift, if only a little. For the first time in my life, I wasn't carrying it alone. And that made all the difference.

At least for tonight, I was home.

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