Eileen had no fond memories of Fiore Street. She had an excellent memory, and she could still recall her father's disgraceful behavior with painful clarity, as if it were captured in a photograph. She tried not to dwell on it, but the memory would sometimes force its way back into her mind.
The moment she had witnessed her father engaged in intercourse, she had been unable to do anything. She had simply stood there, frozen, trembling as her mother's voice echoed in her ears.
If Cesare hadn't been there for her, Eileen might have completely fallen apart. It was only in his embrace that she found stability, only by relying on him that she was able to escape the nightmare.
The laborers' quarters where Eileen was now staying consisted of a single small room. Though modest, it had everything she needed. Alessia's room was right next door, and the walls were thin enough that every sound carried through. Because of this, Alessia had instructed her to shout for help if anything happened.
