I Fled After a Call From Future Me

Emilia's POV

Gianna ended up staying at the house for half a month.

To keep Gianna's depression at bay, Michele went out of his way to please her in every way imaginable.

Every day, he bought her gifts, took her on outings, and even introduced her to all the major family connections and networks I had spent years cultivating.

I remained remarkably docile, leaving early and coming home late every day to take care of my emigration paperwork and handle my assets.

One afternoon, I came home earlier than usual to retrieve a very important blueprint. It was the original layout of the stronghold that my papa, Anzo Amato, left me—and also the only thing I truly cared about now that I was leaving.

I opened the locked drawer in the study, only to find the blueprint inside had vanished.

My mind went blank, and I immediately went to the living room.

Gianna was lounging on the couch, nibbling on fruit like she didn't have a care in the world.

I looked at her coldly. "Where's my blueprint?"

Gianna put on an innocent expression. "Emilia, why are you taking your anger out of me just because you lost something? I've never even set foot in your study."

No sooner had she finished speaking than my eyes landed on her designer bag sitting on the couch. Through the open top, I could see the corner of some brown kraft paper sticking out.

I strode forward and grabbed the bag, dumping everything out. Sure enough, the blueprint Papa had left behind was mixed in among her cosmetics.

"Why are you going through my things?" Gianna shrieked, reaching out to snatch the blueprint.

"This is my property," I replied, gripping the blueprint tightly.

The two of us pulled back and forth.

Gianna suddenly yanked with all her strength, and the sound of paper tearing cut through the air.

The blueprint that represented Papa's life's work had been ripped in two.

Her half of the paper knocked over a glass of juice on the table. Ink and juice spread across the surface, destroying the blueprint completely.

I stared at the wreckage before me, fury surging inside me. I raised my hand, only for my wrist to be seized tightly from behind.

"Emilia, what do you think you're doing?"

Michele shoved me away forcefully and shielded Gianna behind him.

Gianna's eyes immediately reddened. "Michele, I was just curious and wanted to take a look at the blueprint. But Emilia tried to hit me."

Michele looked at me with eyes full of reproach.

"Emilia, you've gone too far. You would resort to violence over such a small thing?"

"A small thing?" I pointed at the ruined blueprint on the table.

Not only was it the only memento Papa had left me, but I had also spent an entire year perfecting it. But now, it was utterly ruined.

Yet, to Michele, it was just a small thing?

Michele pulled a checkbook from his suit pocket and wrote down a figure.

"The blueprint is already destroyed, so there's no point in arguing anymore. Here's 100 thousand dollars—consider it compensation. Let Gianna have whatever's left of it for reference. And from now on, you are to stay out of this matter."

I looked at his check. The project Papa had left behind was worth well over one million dollars, yet Michele wanted to buy it off with a mere 100 thousand dollars. Worse still, he wanted to hand it over to Gianna.

I didn't bother fighting back. There was nothing left in this house worth staying for, so I turned around and walked straight out the front door.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Michele.

The moment he saw me walking away so resolutely, it seemed he realized how harsh he had been and chose to back down.

"Emilia, I was wrong just now. With Gianna being sick this whole time, I've been neglecting you. There's a party tomorrow night—come with me. I'll propose to you again. Let's put everything in the past behind us and start over."

I took a deep breath of the cold outdoor air. Before I could reply, my phone lit up again.

An email and a notification popped up. My visa had been processed, and my flight had been booked. The departure time was set for the next evening—the day of the party.

I'd never told anyone that over these years, aside from managing the Moretti family's underground trade routes, I'd been secretly studying medicine.

I used to shadow the Moretti family's personal physician, Carlo Mancini, around, observing and gaining hands-on experience, all so I could be ready to tend to Michele at any moment. He was always out there, risking his life in gunfights and getting hurt.

Thus, I was leaving for good this time.