My heart pounds as I pull up to the private plane area of the airport, a mix of anticipation and a twinge of worry. The sleek jet has just touched down, and I can't help but feel a mix of excitement to see Aurora and apprehension about the reason for her visit. The warm Miami sun beats down on the tarmac as I step out of the car, squinting against the glare.

Aurora emerges from the plane, her silhouette graceful against the stark white fuselage. As she descends the stairs, I notice a hint of tension in her shoulders, barely masked by her bright smile. "Andrea, how are you doing?" she calls out, her voice carrying a mix of warmth and weariness.

I stride towards her, arms outstretched for an embrace. "I am good. How are you?" The words tumble out, laced with genuine concern and affection. As we hug, I can feel the slight tremor in her body, a testament to the emotional turmoil she must be experiencing.

"I am good too," she replies, pulling back to look at me. "How are things with Stefano?" Her question momentarily distracts me from my worries about her situation.

A wave of warmth washes over me as I think of Stefano. "Things are amazing between us, more than I could ever imagine," I gush, unable to contain my smile. The contrast between my relationship and Aurora's weighs heavily on my mind as I help her load her luggage into the trunk.

As we settle into the car, the air conditioning is a welcome respite from the Miami heat, and Aurora's voice softens. "I am happy for you," she says, her smile tinged with a hint of melancholy that doesn't escape my notice.

Unable to contain my concern any longer, I blurt out, "Thank you, and why are you coming to see that monster? It's bad enough he is forcing you to marry him. Why is he making you visit him?" The words come out harsher than intended, fueled by my protective instincts for my friend.

Aurora's response is measured, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "He believes the only way my family will not find out something is wrong with our engagement on the day he proposes is if we pretend like we are actually dating. I will come and visit once in a while and vice versa."

As I navigate through the airport traffic, I grudgingly admit, "Even though I hate him, he is smart. There is no way your family would not have suspected something if you guys got married immediately." The words taste bitter in my mouth, acknowledging the cunning of a man I despise.

Our conversation shifts to the logistics of her stay; the undercurrent of tension never quite dissipates. "How long are you staying before you fly to Chicago to see him?" I ask, dreading the answer. She is just in Miami to see me.

"Three days tops," Aurora replies, her voice tinged with regret. "As much as I love you, I have work, so I need to get back to Sicily as soon as possible. I only plan to spend a week in the US."

My heart sinks at the brevity of her visit, but I force a smile. "I understand. Even if it's only three days, I am happy you are here." The words are sincere despite the bittersweet circumstances.

"Me too," Aurora responds, her smile reaching her eyes for the first time since her arrival.

As we drive towards my home, the Miami skyline glittering in the distance, I can't help but feel a mix of joy at having my friend close and a deep-seated worry about what the future holds for her.

***

Saturday arrives, and I'm a bundle of nerves. What I initially thought would be a quiet meal with just Mom has evolved into a full family affair, with Dad's unexpected request to join. His asking to be included still baffles me, but here I am, walking towards the dining room with Stefano by my side.

As we enter, Mom is the first to greet us, her chair scraping back as she rises to embrace Stefano.

"Finally! I was starting to think the walk from the door was longer than we remembered," she teases warmly. "How are you doing, dear?"

"I'm doing great, Aunt Rosalia. And you?" Stefano replies, his charm on full display.

"I'm fine, thank you," Mom says, her smile genuine.

Stefano turns up the charm a notch. "I don't know if I've told you before, but I can see where Andrea gets her beauty. You look just as radiant now as I'm sure you did when you were younger."

Mom chuckles, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Thank you, dear."

"I'm starting to think it's my wife you want and not my daughter," Dad's voice cuts through the warmth of the moment as he enters the dining room.

I stiffen involuntarily, my stomach clenching at the sound of his voice. A quick glance at Stefano shows his easy smile hasn't faltered, but I notice the slight tightening around his eyes.

"I wouldn't dare, even if I were crazy," Stefano says smoothly, extending his hand. "Good evening, Uncle Pedro."

Dad takes Stefano's hand, his grip visibly firm. "So, tell me, how did my daughter manage to land a man like you?"

The hidden barb in his words makes me flinch. Why does his tone make it sound like an insult rather than a compliment?

"Pedro!" Mom exclaims, shock evident in her voice.

Dad turns to her, all innocence. "Did I say anything wrong, honey?"

"No, you didn't," she says, her tone belying her words. "Why don't we all sit down for dinner first, then we can talk later?"

"Or we could just talk while eating," Dad counters, taking his seat at the head of the table.

As Stefano and I move to our chairs, I catch his eye. His reassuring smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, and I know he's picked up on the undercurrents of tension.

The maids arrive a moment later, serving dinner. We've barely taken three bites before Dad speaks, his voice deceptively casual.

"So, Stefano, does your family approve of your relationship with Andrea?" He glances at me before shifting his gaze back to Stefano.

"Yes, they do. My mother was even sad to see her leave the last time she was in Sicily," Stefano replies with a small smile.

Dad's eyes narrow. "Hmm, I thought I knew your family. But seeing that they accepted Andrea, I guess I don't."

The hidden meaning in his words hangs heavy in the air. Stefano's voice is carefully controlled as he asks, "What do you mean by that, Uncle Pedro?"

Dad's response is like a slap to the face. "Well... I mean, my daughter is beautiful, which explains how she seduced you and could be your mistress. But the girlfriend of the future, Don? That, I'm surprised she pulled off."

"Dad!" I exclaim shock and hurt coursing through me.

"Pedro!" Mom gasps, her face mirroring my disbelief.

Stefano releases a dark chuckle, slowly setting down his cutlery. The air around him seems to crackle with tension.

"Take. It. Back," Stefano says, his jaw clenched tight, eyes blazing with fury.

Dad, oblivious to the danger, continues eating. "Take what back, Stefano?"

"You know what," Stefano growls, his anger palpable.

"There's nothing to take back, son. My daughter is unfit to date you, and I only agreed to this dinner so you could explain how she hooked you."

I blink rapidly, my heart clenching as I try to process his cruel words. Suddenly, the scrape of a chair breaks the tense silence. My eyes widen in shock as I see Stefano standing, his gun aimed steadily at Dad.

Mom's sharp intake of breath is the only audible reaction, but I can see the fear in her eyes as they dart between Stefano and Dad.

Stefano's eyes blaze with fury as he flips off the safety of his gun, the metallic click echoing ominously off the walls. "Your last words better be a fucking apology," he snarls at my father. "Be quick."

Heart pounding, I spin around and place a trembling hand on Stefano's arm, feeling the coiled tension in his muscles. As our eyes met, I could see the depths of his anger swirling like a storm.

"Stefano," I call his name softly, my voice quivering. "He's not worth it." I expect my father to fall silent or comply with Stefano's demands. Instead, to my utter disbelief, he bursts out laughing.

I turn to face him, confusion and dread mingling in my chest. What could possibly be funny right now? I have no doubt about Stefano's seriousness, yet my father laughs as if this were all some grand joke. Doesn't he realize the gravity of the situation?

"Wow," my father says mockingly, wiping away fake tears. "My daughter's pussy must be better than I thought. Imagine what I could have achieved with it if I'd known sooner."

Shock slams into me, tears instantly flooding my eyes at his vile words.

"Andrea, move!" Stefano growls behind me, but I hold my ground, knowing a single step will unleash a bullet into my father's skull.

"Is that all you think of me?" I ask my father, who is still oblivious to the anguish he is inflicting, or his own grave he dug with Stefano.

"Isn't that all you are? A hole for men to fill, or are you something better?" he sneers.

Before I even registered moving, the sharp crack of my palm against his cheek rang out. My mother gasps at the bright red imprint I leave behind, my own hand stinging from the force of the slap.

"Did you just fucking lay your hands on me?" Father roars, his hand blurring toward me faster than I could blink. But my mother is quicker.

"Don't you dare touch her, Pedro!" Mom snarls, inserting herself between us, her voice shaking with barely contained rage.

"First Santiago, now you. Who's next?" He barks, but silence is his only answer.

Tears stream down my face as years of pain pour out of me. "All my life, I've tried to get your attention, to make you see you have two children. But the harder I tried, the more invisible I became. You made me question every choice I ever made, and for what? Your stupid approval? I see now it's as worthless as you are."

A dark chuckle rumbles in his throat. "Andrea, honey..." he begins, but I cut him off with an anguished cry.

"Shut up! Just shut the fuck up! I'm done - done trying to earn love from someone incapable of giving it. Tonight wasn't even about you meeting Stefano; it was for Mom - the only parent who actually cares about me. The one person whose love I never had to beg for. You? You're nothing but a waste of sperm."

"Andrea!" He growls menacingly, raising his hand again, but freezes as he glances behind me to where Stefano surely still has his gun trained on him.

"Fuck you, Dad. Fuck you, and goodbye." Grabbing Stefano's hand, I move to leave, desperate to escape. But he remains rooted in place, his furious gaze locking onto my father.

"She's right, you're not worth it. But still..." In one fluid motion, Stefano holsters his gun and slams his fist into my father's face with a sickening crunch. "That's nothing compared to what I want to do to you for making her cry, you fucking bastard."

Spitting at my father's feet, Stefano pulls me outside to his car parked out front. As he helps me into the passenger seat, a sudden thought hits me. "Wait, let me grab some of my things."

He nods, moving to follow, but I stop him with a gentle hand. "Can you wait here for me? I'm afraid if you see him again, you might change your mind about letting him live."

"True, be quick then," he relents, releasing my hand. But before I can take a step, he grabs me by the waist and spins me around to face him. In one swift motion, he crashes his lips against mine, the force of the kiss stealing my breath.

For a moment, I'm frozen, my mind struggling to catch up with the sudden shift. But as the warmth of his mouth moves against mine, I feel myself melting into him, my body responding instinctively.

His hands slide up my back, one tangling in my hair as he deepens the kiss. I cling to his shoulders, dizzy with the taste of him, the scent of his skin filling my senses.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Stefano rests his forehead against mine, his eyes dark with desire.

"I'm so fucking proud of you," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion.

"Thank you," I whisper, a smile tugging at my lips. Pride blooms in my chest - pride for finally standing up to the man who has caused me so much pain.

Hurrying back inside and up the stairs, I gather what I can, eager to leave this house and my father far behind. For the first time, I feel truly free.

While folding my clothes into my luggage, a soft knock sounds at my door. "Come in," I call out, not pausing in my packing.

"Andrea," Mom says gently as she enters. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but there's a strength in her posture I've rarely seen before.

I brace myself for an argument. "I know what you're going to say, but save it. Nothing's changing my mind tonight."

"That's not why I'm here, dear," she says, her voice surprisingly steady.

I pause, a shirt half-folded in my hands. "Then why?"

Mom moves closer, taking my hand in hers. As I meet her gaze, I'm struck by the emotion swimming in her eyes. It takes me a moment to recognize it: pride. I realize with a jolt that standing up to Dad today wasn't just for me - it was for her, too. He might not have belittled her as openly as he did me, but she must have felt the pain of his words every single time.

She opens her mouth to speak, then closes it, tears welling up. My heart swells, and I pull her into a tight hug.

"You know I love you, right sweetie?" she says, her voice thick with emotion.

"I know, Mom," I whisper, hugging her tighter. "I love you too."

She pulls back, cupping my face in her hands. "Good. Because if you need anything - anything at all - you let me know. You hear?"

I nod, feeling a lump form in my throat.

"Good," she says, wiping away a stray tear. "Now, let me help you pack."

As we work together, folding clothes and gathering my belongings, I feel a mix of emotions - sadness at leaving, relief at escaping Dad's toxic presence, and a newfound appreciation for my mom's quiet strength.