Chapter 37: Truth hurts

Bianca

I woke to Alessandro’s warmth solid and real at my back, his arm a heavy, possessive weight across my waist. The early morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets. Last night had been a fragile truce, built on whispered promises in the dark and the terrifying, magnificent secret we now shared a baby. Our child. A life that was already reshaping the very foundations of our own.

He stirred, his breath warm against my nape, his lips finding the sensitive skin of my shoulder in a soft, sleep-filled kiss. "Buongiorno, amore mio." His voice was a low rumble, a sound that vibrated through me, promising a future I desperately wanted to believe in.

"Good morning," I whispered, turning in his arms to face him. His eyes, the color of rich espresso, were soft with a tenderness that still had the power to steal my breath. For hours, we lay tangled in the sheets, talking. It was like Positano again, that sun-drenched bubble where the world and its hatreds couldn't touch us. We built castles in the air—nurseries painted in soft yellows, names whispered like secrets, a future where our child would know only love, never the bitter weight of our families' ancient feud. He traced the line of my hip, his touch reverent, and for a few stolen hours, the future felt not like a battlefield, but a promise.

We had the day off before the crush of the charity gala. We moved through the apartment in a synchronized dance, making breakfast, his body a constant, comforting presence behind me as I stirred the eggs. We laughed in the shower, the steam clinging to us, washing away the last ghosts of doubt. We simply existed, two people in love, and it was the most precious gift I’d received in months.

"Let's go to the academy," I suggested later, pulling on a soft sweater. A need to share another part of my world with him, to bridge the gap between this private sanctuary and my public life. "I want to show you where I train the kids . Where I'm… Free."

He agreed, a smooth, easy smile gracing his lips. But for a fraction of a second, something unreadable flickered in his gaze, a shadow there and gone so fast I almost convinced myself I’d imagined it.

As soon as we made it to the academy,

my eyes scanned the familiar space, seeking the one constant: my coach, Max. His booming voice should have been echoing off the high ceilings. He was nowhere to be seen.

A cold trickle of unease traced my spine. I approached a staff member, a young woman who was meticulously coiling a cord. "Laura, where's Maxwell? Running late?"

She didn't meet my eyes, her fingers fumbling with the wire. "He's on suspension. Indefinitely."

The words didn't make sense. "Suspension,What are you talking about? For what?"

"Management's orders," she mumbled, finally looking at me with a gaze full of pity before she hurried away.

My blood ran cold, a frigid river freezing me from the inside out. Max lived and breathed Soccer ; this academy was his life, his heart. It was his tough love and unwavering belief that had honed the boys into kids who always want to be better and do better. I pulled out my phone, dialing his number for the tenth time that week. It went straight to a robotic voicemail, as it had every time before.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service.”

The finality of that message was a physical blow. I turned slowly, my heart hammering against my ribs. My gaze found Alessandro. He stood near the entrance, watching me with a careful, practiced neutrality. He was too still. Too composed.

Then, the pieces came together,the disconnected phone, the indefinite suspension, the terrified silence of the staff, his dislike for the man he saw as a rival for my respect, my time, my affection all clicked into place with a cold, sickening finality.

"Did you do this?" My voice was low, but it cut through the unnatural quiet.

"Do what, Bianca?"

"Don't," I hissed, stepping closer, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Don't you dare play dumb with me. Max is suspended. His number is disconnected. His career is in ruins. Did you have anything to do with it?"

His jaw tightened, a minute twitch that was the only sign of tension. "Perhaps he broke a rule."

"He's my friend," I ground out, the words trembling with a fury I could no longer contain. "Is this your way of removing a problem? Of clearing the board? You couldn't stand that there was a part of my life you didn't control, a person I respected who wasn't you, so you just… what? Made a call? "

Around us, the entire academy had gone still. We were the main event, a brutal, unscripted drama playing out on the strips where I usually fought my battles with a ball, not my heart. Alessandro’s expression hardened, the softness from the morning completely gone, replaced by the impenetrable mask of the man who ruled his world with an iron will.

"Bianca," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Let's discuss this outside."

The command in his tone, the attempt to control the situation, to remove me from the public eye, only fueled my rage. "No." I stood my ground, my feet planted firmly on the familiar floor. "Answer me. Here. Now."

His silence was answer enough. It was a wall, high and unyielding. It was an admission of guilt, not of the action, but of the principle behind it: that he had the right to do such a thing. That my world was now his to manage, to curate, to purge of anything he deemed undesirable.

I couldn't breathe. The air was thick with his betrayal and the stares of my staff. I turned on my heel and walked out, my spine rigid. I heard his footsteps behind me, measured and firm, but I didn't look back.

"Bianca."

"Just take me home." My voice was flat, hollowed out. I stared out the window at the blurring city, seeing nothing but the ruin of a good man's life and the terrifying future that stretched before me.

Back at the resort , the place that had felt like a sanctuary just hours before, I didn't hesitate. I walked straight past the master bedroom, with its rumpled sheets and whispered promises, and into the guest room. The click of the lock was a small, definitive sound. A boundary. A barricade.

I stood in the center of the sterile, impersonal room, my arms wrapped around myself. The space to think that I so desperately needed was filled with a roaring chaos. Was this the man I was having a child with? A man who could, with a single phone call, erase a person's livelihood? Was this act of ruthless control a monstrous aberration, a one-time sin born of a twisted, possessive love? Or was it the final, undeniable glimpse of his true nature the nature I had been running from since the beginning?