The Italian Princess

Chapter Eleven: Mending Hearts

Bella

As I sat in my grandfather's office, the weight of my new responsibilities heavy on my shoulders, I couldn't help but replay the eulogy I delivered at his funeral. A part of it echoed in my mind:

"Today we lay to rest not just the head of our family, but a man of strength, honor, and unwavering conviction. Nonno taught us that the true power of our legacy lies not in fear or dominance, but in unity, respect, and the bonds of family. He was a beacon of guidance, a protector, a visionary. While his absence leaves a void that can never be filled, his spirit and teachings will forever guide our path."

The past two weeks had been a whirlwind of meetings, reorganization, and strategic planning to prevent Italy from descending into chaos. My initiatives were implemented without much resistance, a testament to Nonno's trust in me. My father, however, was another story. His disapproval was evident, especially regarding the recent changes I'd initiated.

"Making the warehouse in Milan the base is a bad call. Not one I would make," he criticized as we wrapped up a meeting.

"I'm sorry you disapprove," I responded, my focus shifting as Felipe and Olivia entered the room, just as my father left.

Seeing them brought a mix of comfort and concern. Felipe's expression was grave, and Olivia's words caught me off guard. "Marco isn't taking things well since his dad passed. He needs you."

"What's he doing?" I asked, the concern in my voice betraying my attempt at detachment.

Felipe hesitated. "I can't say. All I know is he needs you before he ends up alone."

The urgency in his voice resonated with me. "Okay. I will go," I agreed, almost without thinking.

As they left, my mind raced with thoughts of Marco. Despite everything, he was still a part of me, a chapter of my life I couldn't close so easily. His struggles, whatever they were, mattered to me. It was time to face what I had left behind, to confront our unfinished story. The decision to go wasn't just about him; it was about finding closure, for both of us. Whether it led to a reunion or a final goodbye, I needed to see him, to speak to him one more time.

Marco

The echoes of those screams haunt me, an unrelenting reminder of the night I lost my father. The men who failed to protect him, their cries of terror and pain, replay in my mind, a constant, torturous loop. Keta, the architect of this nightmare, is out there somewhere, and my every waking moment is consumed by the hunt for her.

These past weeks have been a blur of relentless travel between Mexico and Arizona, each day a struggle to come to terms with my father's absence. He prepared me for everything but this - the gaping void left by his death, the overwhelming sense of loss and helplessness.

In my grief, I've sought out danger, a reckless attempt to feel what he might have felt in his last moments. This path of self-destruction feels like the only way to connect with him, to understand his final experience.

"Boss, Isabella Romano is on the phone," Marc informs me, pulling me from my dark reverie.

"I'm not taking any calls," I respond, my voice devoid of emotion. I can't face Bella, not now, not in this state. I've changed; the man she knew, the man she might have loved, is gone. Replaced by someone consumed by vengeance and sorrow.

As I clean the blood from my hands, a symbol of my relentless pursuit of justice, or perhaps revenge, I realize I can't drag her back into my world of chaos and danger. I've broken her heart once; I refuse to do it again.