Page 114 of Hate Mates

Ricardo sighs, already bored. “Let her keep her stupid bird, Roberto. It’s just going to die, anyway.”

Roberto rolls his eyes but steps back. “Fine. You can have your little pet, Ottavia. But don’t come crying when it dies in your hands.”

They leave, muttering to each other, and I drop back to my knees. The bird stares at me with dark, beady eyes, its entire body trembling. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to save it.

A shadow falls over me. “It’s a starling.”

I look up. Vincenzo stands above me, his blue eyes unreadable, his face set in that same expression he always wears—one carved by expectation, by discipline, by the weight of a father who only knows how to sharpen, never soften.

“It’s hurt. Is it going to die?” I ask, bottom lip quivering.

He crouches, reaching for the bird, and I quickly grab his arm.

“You’re going to kill it.”

“No, I won’t.”And to my surprise he brushes his fingers over the small creature with a touch far gentler than I expect.

“You promise you won’t kill it?”

“I promise I won’t kill it,” he reassures me, andI watch as he cups the bird carefully, lifting it as though it’s something precious.

I don’t know why I trust him. But I do.He doesn’t mock me, doesn’t tell me I’m stupid, doesn’t call it weak to care for something this small. He just…takes it with a promise not to hurt it.

“What will you do with it?” I whisper.

He stands, the bird cradled in his hands. “Fix it.”

I never expected to see the starling again. But a few weeks later while visiting the Del Rossa family, Vincenzo pulls me aside, away from our parents’ watchful eyes, and leads me to the stables.

My heart pounds as I follow, unsure what to expect, afraid to hope.

Inside, in a wooden crate filled with soft cloth, the bird sits, healed. Alive. Its small chest rises and falls in steady, confident breaths, its feathers no longer matted, its eyes alert.

The fragile, broken thing I left in Vincenzo’s hands is whole again, and my heart simply explodes.

“You saved it.”

“I’m letting it go today.” He lifts the crate, carrying it to the open window, and gently tips it forward. The bird flutters onto the ledge, hesitates for a moment that stretches forever, and then…

It soars.

My throat tightens as I watch it disappear into the sky. My heart’s so full, the moment so perfect, that I reach for Vincenzo’s hand without thinking.

“It’s beautiful, Vincenzo,” I say, unable to take my eyes off it as it flies away until I can no longer see it. I glance at him, squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”

His fingers twitch slightly in mine, as if unsure whether to pull away or hold on. The stiffness in his posture betrays his discomfort, the unfamiliarity of kindness settling awkwardly on his shoulders.

But I don’t care.

He saved that bird.He didn’t have to. He could have ignored me and the hurt little starling, mocked me like my brothers did.

But he didn’t.

He chose to save it. Chose to care. And he kept his promise. Only good people keep their promises.

I turn to him, my lips parting, words pressing against my tongue, but when he looks at me, my breath catches.

There’s no arrogance in his expression, no need for praise, no expectation of gratitude. Just something unguarded. A spark of kindness.

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