Daddy |18+

Lorenzo: My Poor Baby

The evening air was warm and inviting as we sat down to dinner, the table adorned with a spread of delicious food.

Isabella looked radiant, her smile lighting up the room as she chatted with my men. Despite everything we had been through, seeing her happy filled me with a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time.

As we ate, I couldn’t help but steal glances at her, marveling at her resilience and beauty. She had been through so much, and yet here she was, laughing and joking as if the world hadn’t tried to tear her apart.

But then, in the midst of our conversation, Isabella suddenly went pale, her hand flying to her mouth.

Without a word, she pushed back her chair and bolted from the table, disappearing into the bathroom.

My heart clenched with worry as I exchanged a concerned glance with my men. Without a second thought, I rose from my seat and followed her, my footsteps quick and urgent.

“Isabella?” I called out as I reached the bathroom door. “Are you alright?”

There was no response, just the sound of retching from inside. I pushed open the door and found her hunched over the toilet, her shoulders shaking with each heave.

My heart broke at the sight, knowing that she was in pain and there was little I could do to help.

“Isabella,” I said softly, kneeling beside her and gathering her hair in my hands. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

She shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

“I don’t know,” she managed to choke out between sobs. “I just… I felt nauseous all of a sudden.”

I felt a surge of panic rise in my chest.

Could it be something more serious? Had she been hurt in some way that I hadn’t noticed?

“Do you want me to call a doctor?” I asked, my voice laced with concern.

She shook her head again, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s probably just something I ate.”

I wanted to believe her, but the fear in her eyes told me otherwise. Something wasn’t right, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than just a simple bout of nausea.

“Isabella,” I said gently, cupping her face in my hands and forcing her to look at me. “I need you to be honest with me. Are you hiding something?”

She hesitated, her gaze flickering away for a moment before meeting mine again.

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been feeling strange lately. Tired, dizzy, and now this.”

My heart sank at her words, a million possibilities racing through my mind.

Could she be injured? Sick? Pregnant?

“Isabella,” I said, my voice trembling with emotion. “We need to get you checked out."

She nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Okay,” she whispered.

I gathered her in my arms, holding her close as she cried. I carried her to the bedroom.

[---]

After fifteen agonizing minutes, Isabella finally fell asleep in our shared bed, her breathing steady and her face peaceful. I lingered by her side for a moment longer, watching over her with a mix of worry and tenderness before gently tucking the blankets around her and slipping out of the room.

As I returned to the dining room, my men looked up at me expectantly, concern evident in their eyes. I shook my head slightly, silently communicating that Isabella was resting but still not feeling well.

They nodded in understanding, their expressions filled with sympathy.

“She's okay?” Giovanni asked quietly as I took my seat at the head of the table.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, the uncertainty weighing heavily on me. “She’s been feeling sick lately, and tonight… well, tonight was worse.”

My men exchanged worried glances, their concern mirroring my own. Isabella had become like family to them, and the thought of her suffering was unbearable.

“We should get her to a doctor,” Mark suggested, his tone decisive. “Make sure it’s nothing serious.”

I nodded in agreement, grateful for their support.

“First thing in the morning,” I said firmly. “I won’t take any chances with her health.”

The rest of dinner passed in subdued silence, the weight of Isabella’s illness hanging over us like a dark cloud.

Despite our attempts at conversation, the atmosphere was heavy with worry, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.

[---]

After we finished eating, my men dispersed, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I poured myself a glass of whiskey and settled into a chair, staring into the darkness outside the window.

Isabella’s face haunted my mind, her pale complexion and tear-stained cheeks a stark reminder of the fragility of life. She had been through so much already, and now this.

[---]

As the night wore on, I prayed for her peace and comfort, silently vowing to do whatever it took to ensure her well-being. And as sleep finally claimed me, I held onto the hope that tomorrow would bring answers and, perhaps, a glimmer of relief in the darkness.