The silence in Old Battista's stone house that night was heavier than ever before.
Sofia barely slept. Maria's blunt yet powerful words echoed in her mind like a recording on loop, accompanied by countless images of her daughter from childhood to now—laughter, tears, stubbornness, exhaustion… finally settling on the brief, genuine, soft smile Elisa had given Maria while leaning against the counter that afternoon.
The sting of jealousy had long been drowned by more overwhelming remorse. Maria was right. She had turned Luca's love into a curse. Using the pain of losing one child, she had pushed the other into an emotional desert for twenty years. And now, she had escalated it, her foolish ambition and greed almost completely destroying everything her daughter had fought so hard to protect.
As dawn approached, the sky outside turned a murky grey. Sofia sat up from the old sofa that had left her aching. She looked across at her son's sleeping face in the other room, still frowning in his sleep, looking childishly immature. Massimo… She thought of her indulgence and pampering of her son over the years. Wasn't that another form of escape and distortion? Twisting her regret over Luca and her complicated feelings toward Elisa into unconditional support and expectations for Massimo, ultimately pushing him into the abyss and turning him into another blade against the family.
This couldn't go on. Not to salvage any dignity or status—those were already dust. Just… perhaps just to see, in her daughter's eyes, a glimmer, even a sliver, of light belonging to a "mother," rather than pure disgust and cold duty.
She stood up and walked into the tiny, simple bathroom. The mirror showed a pale, puffy face with fine lines at the corners of her eyes, messy hair, still in yesterday's flour-and-oil-stained clothes. This was Sofia Rossi, once Milan's most elegant society lady, now just a shell hollowed out by regret and reality. She turned on the tap, splashed icy water on her face. The cold sting made her shiver but brought a touch of clarity.
Then, she carefully combed her hair and changed into the last relatively tidy outfit she'd brought—a simple beige knit top and trousers. No jewelry. No perfume. Just a stark, almost austere plainness.
***
The bakery in the early morning was at its busiest, most vibrant. The oven preheated with a low rumble. Fresh dough took shape under Gianluigi's hands. The air carried the slight tang of awakening yeast and the clean scent of flour. Maria was loudly directing newly arrived helpers at the counter. Turning around, she saw Sofia standing at the back door, pale-faced but with unusually clear eyes.
Maria paused, then understood. She didn't greet Sofia loudly as usual, just nodded, her eyes holding encouragement, then pointed towards the narrow stairs leading to the living quarters upstairs.
Elisa usually checked emails and messages in the makeshift "office" upstairs before breakfast. Lorenzo was there too. They were discussing something in low voices, documents spread before them.
Footsteps on the stairs made Elisa look up. When she saw Sofia at the door, her expression instantly cooled. Her back straightened instinctively—a defensive posture.
"Yes?" Elisa's voice was flat, emotionless.
Lorenzo also stopped speaking, looking calmly towards the door.
Sofia stood in the doorway, fingers tightly interlaced, knuckles white. She looked at her daughter's cold, weary face, at this simple room piled with files symbolizing the family's mess. Finally, her gaze landed on Elisa's eyes, bloodshot from days of running around and stress.
The courage gathered overnight almost crumbled the moment it met her daughter's gaze. Shame, fear, mortification… But Maria's words echoed again: *One step at a time.*
She took a deep breath, stepped inside, leaving the door open. She didn't sit, standing in the middle of the room, a few steps from Elisa's desk, like a prisoner awaiting judgment.
"Elisa," Sofia began, her voice hoarse and dry, but unusually clear. "I… I came to apologize. For everything I've done."
Elisa didn't speak, just watched her, her gaze deep, like a pool of icy, fathomless water.
Sofia swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue. Each word seemed wrenched from her chest. "For twenty years of coldness, neglect, and… and the unfair resentment and blame I placed on you because of Luca's death. I wasn't a mother… at least, not a decent one."
She paused, gathering strength for the most crucial, heaviest part.
"And… for Project Phoenix." She saw Elisa's eyes sharpen into icy daggers. Lorenzo also straightened slightly. "I was the one who leaked it. That night, outside the study… I overheard your conversation with your grandfather and Lorenzo. I took photos of the draft on your desk and sent them anonymously to Leval's people."
Deathly silence filled the room, broken only by the faint sounds of the bakery's morning bustle downstairs. Elisa's fingers tightened on the desk, nails almost digging into the wood grain. Though she'd long suspected, hearing her mother confess, the chill of betrayal by a blood relative instantly seeped into her bones.
"Why?" Elisa finally spoke, her voice soft but razor-sharp.
Sofia closed her eyes. When she opened them, they held pure pain and self-loathing. "Because of jealousy. Because of resentment. Because your grandfather gave all his hopes and resources to you. Because Massimo was useless. Because I thought… if your Phoenix failed, if your decisions were proven wrong, Massimo would have a chance, I… I would have a chance to regain some voice, some respect. I was stupid, short-sighted, blinded by jealousy… I didn't even consider the disaster it would bring to you, to the group…"
She couldn't continue, her body trembling slightly.
"Not just Phoenix," Elisa's voice was as cold as a Siberian wind. "This time. The scam Father's caught in. How much did you know?"
Sofia's head snapped up. Tears finally overflowed, streaming down her aged cheeks. "I knew… I knew everything. From when Alessandro Visconti and Carlo Bergamo approached Massimo… Carl introduced them… the 'Stella d'Europa' trap… At first, I just wanted Massimo to have a chance to prove himself. Later… later we got in deeper. They kept demanding more money, tempting us with 'almost there,' 'exclusive opportunity'… I lost my mind. I even… I even helped persuade your father, later… later manipulated things privately, mortgaged the group's core assets…"
She broke down sobbing, almost unable to stand, bracing against the wall to keep from collapsing. "It was me… all me… My greed, my stupidity. I ruined Andrea, ruined Grandfather, ruined the whole Rossi family… Elisa, if you want to turn me over to the police, if you want me to take your father's place, I'll go! I'll do anything! If it can make up for even a little… if it can spare your father some suffering, help you recover even a shred of what's lost…"
She collapsed, kneeling on the floor, no longer the proud lady, just a mother utterly broken by remorse and fear. She covered her face, weeping uncontrollably, the cries filled with desperate awareness of her own actions.
Elisa sat in her chair, watching her mother weep on the floor. Anger surged in her chest like magma, burning her reason. It was this woman before her. Betrayal after betrayal, wound after wound, almost destroying everything she had.
Yet… looking at her mother's graying hair, trembling shoulders, hearing that heart-wrenching, genuine confession… another, deeper, more complex emotion rose from the ashes of her anger, excruciatingly slowly. It was the bond of blood. The distant, blurred memory of warmth belonging to a "mother." The inability to completely harden her heart when seeing a loved one fallen into the mud, begging abjectly.
Lorenzo quietly reached out, covering her clenched fist with his hand, his warm palm enveloping her cold fingertips. He didn't speak, just silently offered support.
Time passed in the oppressive sound of weeping and silence. The morning light outside grew brighter, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the room.
Finally, Elisa let out a slow, deeply weary breath. It seemed to expel most of the violent emotions from her chest, leaving only heavy, unshakable responsibility and a trace of… faint, reluctant relief she didn't want to examine.
"Get up," her voice was still hoarse, but no longer icy as a blade. It held an almost indifferent calm. "Kneeling solves nothing."
Sofia's sobs hitched. She looked up blankly, tear-streaked eyes fixed on her daughter.
Elisa avoided her pleading gaze, looking out the window at the waking town. "Write down everything you know about the 'Stella d'Europa' scam—contacts, money trails, contracts, what they promised, what they threatened—everything. Hold nothing back. Give it to my lawyers. Your testimony and cooperation might be more useful than taking the blame yourself."
Sofia froze, then disbelief and a faint spark lit her eyes. "You… you'll let me…"
"I'm not forgiving you, Sofia," Elisa cut her off, turning her gaze back, meeting her mother's eyes directly. Her look was. "The harm you caused isn't something an apology or prison can fix. Grandfather is still in the hospital. Father's future is uncertain. The Rossi name is almost a joke. These are facts."
She paused, her tone heavy, yet carrying a desperate resolve. "But you are my mother. Massimo is my brother. That is an unchangeable fact. The Rossi family now is like a sinking ship. The people on board pointing fingers, shifting blame, even trying to throw each other overboard… that only makes the ship sink faster. It means nothing."
She stood up, walked to the window, her back to Sofia and Lorenzo. Her voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone clearly.
"What we need to do now isn't debate who deserves hell. It's to figure out how to make this wreck, even if it's just a plank, float to shore. Family…" She took a deep breath, saying the word that had once been so ironic but now had to be given new meaning. "…has to pull together to get through this. Grandfather needs care. Father needs legal support. The debts and mess outside need someone to handle them. I can't do it alone."
She turned, looking at her mother still kneeling on the floor, staring at her dumbly. Her eyes were, but no longer held bone-chilling coldness. "Are you willing to help? In your own way. Not as atonement, but… for this family to still have a future."
Tears streamed from Sofia's eyes again. But this time, they weren't pure despair and pain. They were mixed with shock, gratitude, and a faint yet stubborn glimmer of something like rebirth. She nodded vigorously, lips trembling, unable to form words, only repeating, "I will… I will… Elisa, I'll do anything…"
Elisa said no more. She walked to the desk, picked up a document, and handed it to Lorenzo. "Contact Avvocato Damiani (her lead lawyer). Tell him we have a new, key witness willing to provide detailed testimony on the 'Stella d'Europa' scam. Urgent meeting needed. Arrange a secure location."
Lorenzo took the document, nodded. His gaze lingered for a moment between Elisa and Sofia, a hint of imperceptible gentleness in his eyes. He asked nothing, turning to make the arrangements.
The room held only Elisa and Sofia now. Morning light fully illuminated the room, falling on Elisa's weary yet straight back and Sofia's tear-streaked face, which seemed to have shed a thousand-pound burden.
The storm was far from over. The road ahead was still dark. But in this simple room filled with the scent of bread and morning light, a twenty-year wall of ice had developed its first deep crack. And perhaps something new could grow from that crack—not forgetting, not whitewashing, but, after acknowledging all the harm and mistakes, a fragile determination to try standing together on the ruins.
Downstairs in the bakery, Maria's loud voice called out, greeting the first customers of the day.
A new day had begun.