The Italian Princess

Chapter Eighteen: The Feelings of Defeat

Bella

Navigating through the aftermath of my ordeal left me grappling with emotions I'd never fully explored. From leading a powerful organization to feeling vulnerable and dependent, the shift was abrupt and disorienting. Marco had been attentive, checking in on me regularly, yet giving me space, perhaps too much. I was left to wonder about his thoughts and actions, which seemed shrouded in secrecy as he likely dealt with the fallout of my situation.

I pondered over my new reality. Normalcy was a foreign concept; I chuckled humorlessly at the thought of engaging in typical prenatal activities. Yoga? Childbirth classes? These mundane routines were as alien to me as peace had been to my former life. Yet here I was, contemplating a quieter life that was never part of my plans.

The intrusion of a familiar, comforting presence pulled me from my reverie. "Good Morning," Marco's mother greeted warmly, entering with a tray of breakfast. Her presence was a balm to my unsettled spirit.

"Good Morning," I managed, adjusting my position carefully to avoid the sharp stings from my bruises.

"Has Marco been by?" she inquired, setting the tray down and eyeing me with concern.

"Not since a couple of days ago. I'm sure he's busy cleaning up my mess," I responded, trying to mask the bitterness with humor.

She took a seat beside me on the bed, her expression softening. "Stop portraying yourself as a burden because we don't see you like that. You two made this baby out of love, and nothing could possibly be wrong with that." Her words, sincere and comforting, eased some of the weight from my shoulders. She leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead—a maternal gesture that filled a void I hadn't realized was growing.

"Olivia wants us to help with the final wedding plans. So eat up and join us when you can," she added, standing to leave with the grace of someone accustomed to caring for others.

Left alone, her words echoed in my mind, nurturing a sliver of hope. Perhaps there was a place for me here, a role I could embrace beyond the chaos of my former life. The idea of helping with Olivia's wedding, of participating in something joyous and normal, was strangely appealing.

As I nibbled on the breakfast, a plan began to form. Maybe it was time to redefine what normal could mean for me. Stepping into a role that included being part of a family, helping with wedding plans, and preparing for a baby wasn't just about adapting to Marco's world—it was about crafting a new one for myself, where love and family might just be enough to rebuild the peace I'd lost.

Marco

As Felipe and I walked through the potential strategies for ensuring Bella's and the baby's safety, my mind was a turmoil of emotion and calculated risk. "No, she would never do that," I insisted, rejecting the idea of manipulating Bella into a marriage just to secure her safety. It felt wrong, like I would be exploiting her vulnerability.

"Why not? Getting married and making her a part of the cartel is the only way they both are safe before you demand things from the Order. She can reclaim Italy later," Felipe argued, his reasoning clear but cold, more strategic than emotional.

"You think I haven't thought of this already? She doesn't want to marry me. I haven't been good to her," I admitted, the weight of my past actions pressing down on me. My failures with Bella were not just missteps; they were deep wounds that I feared might never heal.

Felipe paused, allowing the gravity of our discussion to sink in. Then, unexpectedly, he shared his own burden. "I cheated on Olivia," he confessed, his voice low. "I had one of the weakest moments a man could have, but the morning after, all I could think of was her. If you love Bella, I think it's time you both stop playing games and figure out what's really important."