CHAPTER 3

CARLOTTA’S POV

The morning sunlight filtered through the small window as I heard Mama moving around the tiny kitchen. The smell of coffee filled the air, and for a moment, I could pretend I was still a child waking up in our old house.

"Good morning, baby," Mama called softly as I sat up on the couch, rubbing my eyes.

"Morning, Mama," I mumbled, trying to smooth down my messy hair.

She appeared in the doorway, already dressed for work in her simple black uniform. "I have to leave for the Blackwood mansion soon, but I've been thinking about you all night."

"About what?" I asked, stretching my stiff muscles.

"About your future," she said, sitting down beside me on the couch. "I'm going to bring us some food from the kitchen today - Mrs. Blackwood doesn't mind when I take leftovers home."

"That's kind of her," I said quietly.

Mama reached over and took my hands. "Carlotta, I need you to listen to me carefully. You're only eighteen years old. Eighteen! You shouldn't be living your life like some old widow, mourning what's past."

I frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you need to go back to school," she said firmly. "You need to live like the teenager you still are, not waste your youth dwelling on those horrible two years."

"School?" I shook my head immediately. "Mama, I can't. I'm too old, I've missed too much, and besides—"

"Besides nothing," she interrupted. "There's a college just fifteen minutes from here. Community college. You can register and start immediately since the semester is still new."

"But I don't have the money for—"

"We'll figure out the money," Mama said stubbornly. "What you can't figure out is how to get back the years you've lost if you don't start now."

I pulled my hands away from hers, frustration building in my chest. "You don't understand. I'm not that girl anymore. I can't just pretend the last two years didn't happen and go sit in classrooms with kids who've never—"

"Who've never what? Suffered? Grown up too fast?" Mama's voice was gentle but firm. "Baby, that's exactly why you need to go back. You need to remember who you were before Dante stole that from you."

"I barely remember who I was," I whispered, tears threatening to spill.

"Then this is how you find out," she said, cupping my face in her hands. "You go to school, you meet people your own age, you learn something new. You become Carlotta again, not just Dante's widow."

I wanted to argue more, but something in her eyes stopped me. She looked so hopeful, so determined to see me heal.

"What if I can't keep up?" I asked quietly.

"Then you'll try harder," Mama said with a small smile. "What if you can? What if you're brilliant at it? What if you find something you love?"

The possibility felt foreign and terrifying. "I don't know, Mama..."

"Promise me you'll at least go look at the college today," she said. "Just look. That's all I'm asking."

I sighed, knowing I couldn't refuse her after everything she'd been through. "Okay. I'll look."

She beamed and kissed my forehead. "That's my girl. I have to go now, but think about it, okay? You deserve a real life, Carlotta. Don't let Dante steal that from you even in death."

After she left, I sat in the quiet apartment, her words echoing in my head. You deserve a real life. Did I? It felt strange to even consider it.

I went to the small dresser where I'd unpacked my few belongings and pulled out a rolled-up sock from the bottom. Inside was the money I'd managed to save over the past two years - small amounts I'd hidden whenever Dante gave me money for household expenses. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Just go look, I told myself. That's all.

But first, I found myself walking in a different direction entirely. My feet carried me toward the old part of town, to the garage where Papa used to work before he died. I don't know why I needed to see it, but something pulled me there.

The garage looked smaller than I remembered, shabbier. The sign was faded, and weeds grew through cracks in the concrete. But through the open bay doors, I could see the motorcycles lined up inside, chrome gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

I stood there for a long moment, remembering afternoons when I was little, begging Papa to let me come with him to work. He'd always refused.

"The kitchen is the best place for a girl child," he'd said sternly. "Not the racetrack, not the garage. Girls belong in the house."

But I'd loved watching him work anyway, sneaking peeks when I brought him lunch. The way his hands moved over the engines, confident and sure. The smell of oil and metal. The roar of the bikes when they came to life.

"A proper lady doesn't get her hands dirty," he'd scolded when he caught me touching one of the bikes. "What will people think?"

But what if I don't care what people think anymore? The thought surprised me with its clarity. What if I stopped trying to be what everyone else expected me to be?

I shook my head and turned away from the garage. I was being ridiculous. I had to focus on practical things, like education and finding a job.

The college was exactly where Mama had said it would be, a cluster of low brick buildings surrounded by trees that were just starting to turn colors. Students walked between buildings with backpacks and books, talking and laughing. They all looked so young, so carefree.

I used to be like that, I realized. Before everything happened.

The administrative building was easy to find, with clear signs pointing the way. I took a deep breath and walked through the glass doors, my heart pounding.

The registrar's office was down a long hallway lined with bulletin boards covered in announcements and flyers. I read them as I walked: study abroad programs, club meetings, part-time job postings. It all seemed like a foreign world.

"Can I help you?" asked a middle-aged woman behind the counter when I approached.

"Yes, I... I'd like to register for classes," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course, dear. Let me get you the paperwork." She pulled out a thick packet of forms. "What's your name?"

"Carlotta Russo," I said automatically, then hesitated. "Well, it was Carlotta Alessi, but now it's... it's back to Russo."

The woman's pen stopped moving. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, and I saw a flash of recognition there. She knew the name Alessi. Everyone in this city knew about Dante and his family.

She knows, I thought, my cheeks burning with shame. She knows what I was.

But the registrar just gave me a professional smile and continued writing. "Russo it is, then. And what program are you interested in?"

"I... I'm not sure yet," I admitted. "I haven't been in school for a while."

"That's perfectly fine," she said kindly. "Many of our students are returning after some time away. We have excellent counselors who can help you figure out what you'd like to study."

She handed me the packet of forms. "Fill these out and bring them back with your high school transcripts and the registration f*e. Classes start fresh every few weeks, so you could begin as early as next Monday if everything's in order."

"Next Monday?" I repeated, suddenly feeling panicked. "That's so soon."

"It's never too soon to start building your future," she said with an encouraging smile. "Take your time with the paperwork, though. No need to rush."

I thanked her and walked back outside, clutching the packet of forms to my chest. Students were still moving around campus, and I watched them with a mixture of longing and fear.

Could I really do this? Could I really just... start over?

The thought was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. For the first time in years, I had a choice to make. Not about what to cook for dinner or which dress to wear, but about my entire future.

Maybe Mama's right, I thought as I walked home. Maybe I do deserve a real life.

I looked down at the forms in my hands. At eighteen, I could still catch up, still become someone new. Someone who wasn't defined by what had happened to me.

Carlotta Russo, I whispered to myself. Not Alessi. Not anyone's property. Just... me.