The day Andrea withdrew from his school
He did not tell anyone at first.
He folded the withdrawal form carefully, as if neatness could soften the meaning of the words printed across the top.
VOLUNTARY SCHOOL WITHDRAWAL — IMMEDIATE EFFECT
Voluntary.
The lie tasted bitter.
---
The school hallway felt longer than it used to.
Voices echoed around him—laughing, complaining about exams, arguing about football. Boys his age. Boys who still had the luxury of being boys.
Andrea walked past the classroom that used to be his.
Eleventh grade.
He paused only for a second, just long enough to hear the teacher call out attendance.
Someone answered his name.
A mistake.
Andrea turned away before the sound could finish breaking him.
---
At home, Isabella was hunched over the small table, papers spread everywhere—appeals, scholarship documents, rejection notices layered on top of each other like scars.
"You're home early," she said without looking up.
Andrea set his bag down quietly.
"I'm done," he said.
She looked up then. "Done with what?"
"School."
The word fell between them, heavy and final.
Isabella stood so fast her chair scraped loudly against the floor. "What do you mean, done?"
Andrea met her eyes. He didn't flinch.
"I dropped out. Again."
The room went silent.
Lucia froze by the stove.
Marcello slowly lowered the newspaper in his hands.
Isabella shook her head. "No. No, you can't—Andrea, we just fixed this. Xavier helped—"
"That's exactly why," Andrea interrupted.
His voice trembled now, anger bleeding through. "How many times are we going to be saved by someone else? How many times are you going to give things up for us?"
Lucia rushed to him. "Andrea, you're a child—"
"I'm sixteen," he snapped. "And I'm tired of watching my family drown while I sit in a classroom pretending equations matter more than food."
Marcello stood, his face pale. "You should have told me."
"And say what?" Andrea laughed bitterly. "That I should stay in school while you pretend your heart isn't failing again? While Isabella loses everything she worked for?"
Isabella's eyes filled with tears. "Andrea… this isn't your burden."
"But it is," he said quietly. "Because I'm here. And Otilla made sure we have nothing else."
---
That night, Andrea lay awake staring at the ceiling.
The first time he dropped out, it felt like falling.
This time, it felt like choosing to jump.
He got up before dawn.
Put on his jacket.
Left a note on the table.
I'll help, However I can.
---
Isabella found the note an hour later.
Her hands shook as she read it.
She ran outside, barefoot, heart racing—but the street was empty.
Andrea was already gone.
---
By noon, Andrea had found work.
Not good work.
Work that asked no questions and offered no contracts.
He carried crates. Cleaned back rooms. Delivered packages he didn't look inside.
Men with heavy accents and heavier eyes paid him in crumpled bills and warned him not to be late.
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
---
Otilla learned of Andrea's withdrawal before sunset.
She smiled.
"Predictable," she murmured.
A boy forced to choose survival over education.
A family collapsing inward.
She sipped her tea calmly.
"Let him work," she said. "Desperation sharpens obedience."
---
That evening, Isabella sat on the bed Andrea used to sleep in.
She held his pillow to her chest and cried silently.
She had lost campus.
Lost Italy.
Lost contact.
And now—
She had lost her brother's childhood.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the empty room. "I was supposed to protect you."
---
Far away, Xavier stared at a report he wasn't meant to see.
ROSSI, ANDREA — EDUCATIONAL STATUS: WITHDRAWN
His fist slammed into the wall.
"She's destroying them," he growled. "One piece at a time."
The decision he had been circling for months finally settled in his chest.
This was no longer about duty.
Or orders.
Or restraint.
Otilla D'Este had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.
--
Andrea walked home late that night, exhaustion dragging at his bones.
He counted the money in his pocket.
It wasn't much.
But tomorrow, he'd earn more.
He straightened his shoulders.
For his family.
For Isabella.
Even if it meant growing up far too fast.
And in the shadows of Italy's power, Otilla watched the pieces move exactly where she wanted them.
The game was tightening.
And the cost was rising.