Chapter Twenty-two – An Awkward Breakfast

Chapter Twenty-two – An Awkward Breakfast
MALIA

A knock on the door woke me the next morning. Before I could even respond, the door creaked open and Isabella peeked inside.
“Good morning,” she said in her soft, cheerful tone. “Breakfast will be ready soon, and I wanted to ask if you’d like to eat in the kitchen with everyone?”
I nodded, rubbing sleep from my eyes as I looked around the room — a space that looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel but felt more like a gilded cage. Too beautiful to hate. Too luxurious to be comforting.
“Sure. Just… tell me who ‘everyone’ is.”
She stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her, then walked over to the windows, pulling back the curtains and cracking them open like she was acting in one of those old maid scenes in movies.
“Dr. Renaldi is already here to check on your wounds, so we invited him for breakfast. Then there’s Marcello, Gabe, my mother, and me.”
After freshening up in the most extravagant bathroom I’d ever seen, I dressed in the adjacent walk-in closet — a space that still blew my mind every time I opened the door. It looked like a boutique showroom, full of clothes in my exact size. Of course. That part still made my skin crawl.
When I came back into the room, towel-drying my damp hair, I expected to be alone, but Isabella was sitting on one of the sofas, legs crossed like she was waiting for me.
“You didn’t have to wait,” I said, raising a brow. “I’m feeling better. I could’ve made it to the kitchen myself.”
She smiled. “I know. I just thought it would be nice to go together.”
The kitchen fell silent the second we stepped downstairs. Conversations halted mid-sentence. All eyes turned to me, each holding something different.
Dr. Renaldi offered a polite smile, his gaze drifting quickly to Isabella beside me. The older woman by the stove — Claire, I guessed — gave me a kind, welcoming smile as she stirred something fragrant. She had the same gentle energy as Isabella. Marcello looked at me with his usual unreadable expression — but there was mischief tucked in his gaze, like always. And the last one — Gabe — stared at me like I didn’t belong. His disapproval was clear, though I couldn’t begin to guess why.
“Um… good morning,” I said, awkwardly, following Isabella to the kitchen island. I slid onto the barstool next to Marcello, who offered a soft, “Good morning,” before resuming a quiet conversation with Gabe and Dr. Renaldi. They were discussing something serious, a situation that needed to be ‘taken care of.’
My eyes widened. Were they seriously talking Mafia business over breakfast like it was nothing?
Claire came around the island and set a plate in front of me.
“It’s good to see you up and moving, principessa. I’m Claire — the housekeeper here. Whatever you need, my door’s always open.”
She smiled warmly and gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before heading back to the stove. I wanted to ask her to just call me Malia, but I remembered Isabella’s warning — that using my real name might be seen as disrespectful in front of others. So I just returned her smile.
“How are you feeling, principessa?” Dr. Renaldi asked gently.
“Better, thanks,” I murmured, poking at my eggs without much appetite.
“Good. After breakfast, I’ll take a look just to make sure everything’s healing properly.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Then I can go back to school with a clear mind.”
“You what?” Marcello’s voice cut through the room like a knife. His eyes locked on me.
“It’s Monday tomorrow,” I said flatly. “So I’m going to school.”
“No. You’re still recovering,” he replied calmly, like it was settled.
“I’m fine. And I’m sure Dr. Renaldi will confirm that. So nothing is stopping me.”
He stared at me — longer than necessary — before glancing around the room. Everyone else had gone quiet again, the air heavy with tension.
“We’ll talk after the check-up,” he muttered, turning back to his food.
But no one resumed conversation. The silence lingered.
After the most awkward breakfast of my life, half the room followed me back upstairs. Dr. Renaldi for the check-up. Isabella to assist. And Marcello — because apparently, he was always around.
The exam didn’t take long. I got the all-clear to return to school, and — possibly even more important — permission to shower again. I was given waterproof bandages for the wounds.
The doctor and Isabella stepped out. Marcello followed — but I had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t stay gone for long. I was right.
He returned a minute later, entering like always — composed, in control, like the world moved to accommodate him.
“I want to go back to school,” I said the moment he stepped in. My voice was steady — because I forced it to be.
He stopped by the window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a sleek black box.
“I figured you’d jump right to that,” he said. “But it’s not up to me.”
My jaw clenched. “You mean it’s up to Blaine DeCavalcante.”
That earned me a small smirk.
“Exactly.”
The name twisted something in my stomach. The man who held my future hostage. The one I was supposed to marry — without even knowing what he looked like.
I crossed my arms tightly.
“Then call him.”
Marcello tilted his head slightly, amused.
“You won’t be allowed to return until you sign the necessary documents,” he said. “Including an NDA. There are strict rules about what you can and cannot say.”
“So I’m not allowed to tell my friends the truth?”
He nodded. “Correct. The less they know, the safer they are.”
Safe.
The word felt like an insult.
“You’ll be escorted by me,” he continued. “And Isabella will stay close when possible.”
The silence between us deepened.
“And my phone?” I asked finally.
His expression faltered. Barely — but enough for me to catch it.
“It was damaged. At the factory.”
I blinked. Of course. I remembered clutching it like a lifeline. Thumb hovering over the screen. Never brave enough to hit send.
He held up the black box.
“Newest iPhone,” he said simply, offering it like it meant nothing.
I took it. Hesitantly. Untrusting. But I still took it.
I opened it, screen flickering to life. Only five contacts were saved: Claire. Isabella. Gabe. Marcello.
And… Blaine.
My breath caught.
Just a name. But it felt like seeing a ghost. The invisible threat behind all of this.
Encrypted. Untouchable. Just like him.
I stared at the phone.
“Any other one would’ve been fine,” I muttered.
“I know,” he said.
And the way he said it…
He knew. More than I wanted him to.
More than I was ready for.