Chapter 40

Chapter 40
Isabella's POV
"Connor!" I called down the hospital corridor, my voice echoing off sterile walls. "Where is Connor O'Brien?"
A nurse approached hurriedly. "Miss, you need to return to your room—"
"Where is he?" I grabbed her arm.
"He's in the ICU."
Marco's voice stopped me cold. He stood at the end of the hallway, immaculate in his charcoal Armani suit, dark eyes watching my every movement.
"Take me to him."
"Isabella—"
"Take me to him now."

Through the glass windows, I could see Connor lying motionless in the center bed, surrounded by machines that hummed and beeped with mechanical precision.
Thick white bandages wrapped around his head. His face was swollen beyond recognition, purple bruising spreading down to his jaw. Tubes snaked from his mouth and nose, connecting him to machines that breathed for him.
The steady beep of the heart monitor was the only sound—counting down what was left of Connor O'Brien's life.
"The doctors say he's brain dead," Dr. Moretti said behind me, his voice professionally gentle. "Massive cranial trauma from the impact. The machines are keeping his body functioning, but..." His voice trailed off with practiced sympathy. "I'm sorry, Miss Romano. He's gone."
"I'll protect you and the baby, Isabella. I swear it."
Connor's voice echoed in my memory, full of conviction and tenderness. Just hours ago, he'd been so excited about our future, about building something real together.
"We'll have a little house in Vegas. Maybe a garden where the baby can play."
I pressed my palm against the cold glass, tears streaming down my face.
"Seen enough, principessa?" Marco stepped beside me, his voice carrying that deadly calm I knew so well. "This is what happens to anyone who tries to take you from me. Connor was the first..."
He paused, his dark eyes studying my face with dangerous intensity. There was something calculating in his expression, as if he was weighing his next words carefully.
"You did this," I whispered, still staring at Connor's broken form.
"I protected what's mine," Marco replied without a trace of remorse. "Connor knew the consequences when he chose to betray me."
"He was trying to save me."
"He was stealing from me." Marco moved closer, his presence filling the space between us. "No one takes what belongs to Marco Salvatore. No one."
"Connor is a good man. He doesn't deserve this."
"Good men don't seduce their boss's woman. Good men don't plan elaborate betrayals." Each word was delivered with surgical precision. "Good men don't put their hands on what doesn't belong to them."
"I kissed him," I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not the other way around. I chose him."
The silence behind me was deafening. When Marco finally spoke, his voice carried a violence that made my blood freeze.
"What did you say?"
"I said I chose Connor. I wanted him." I turned to face Marco fully, letting him see the defiance burning in my eyes. "I wanted his hands on me. I wanted his mouth on mine. I wanted him to take me away from you."
Marco's face went perfectly still—his tell when rage was building beyond control. His hands slowly clenched into fists.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" I stepped closer. "Connor never forced himself on me. Every kiss, every touch, every promise of freedom—I welcomed all of it."
"Stop talking."
"Why? Because it hurts to know that someone else can make me feel things you never could? That Connor offered me love while you only know how to offer ownership?"
Marco's hand shot out, gripping my jaw with controlled force. His fingers pressed into my skin as he forced my face up to his.
"I own you," he said quietly, his voice barely controlled. "Every breath you take, every beat of your heart—all of it belongs to me."
"Then why did I try to run? If I truly belonged to you, why would I risk everything to get away?"
For a moment, something vulnerable flickered in his eyes—hurt, confusion, desperate need. Then it was gone, replaced by something calculating.
"Because you don't understand what you are yet," he said, his voice dropping to that deadly whisper. "But you will. Connor was just the first lesson."
"The first lesson?"
Marco's gaze dropped to my stomach, and the temperature seemed to drop.
"Tell me something, Isabella," he continued, his voice conversational and dangerous. "How long have you been carrying O'Brien's bastard?"
The words hit like physical blows. He knew about the pregnancy, but he thought—
"Marco, you don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly." His hand moved from my jaw to rest against my abdomen, palm flat and possessive against where new life was growing. "You seduced my most trusted soldier. You let him put his child inside you. And then you tried to run away with both of them."
"It's not what you think—"
"Isn't it?" His eyes burned with cold fury mixed with something that looked like betrayal. "You spread your legs for my soldier while planning your escape. You let him believe he was saving you and his unborn child."
The accusation cut deep because I could see the real pain beneath Marco's calculated cruelty. This wasn't just about ownership—it was about Connor's betrayal, about losing someone he'd trusted like a brother.
"Connor loved me," I whispered, needing him to understand that much at least.
"Connor died for you," Marco replied, his voice cracking slightly with genuine emotion. "He threw away his life, his honor, his oath to this family. All to protect a woman carrying another man's bastard."
"Stop calling it that—"
"What should I call it?" His hand pressed harder against my stomach, possessive and threatening all at once. "A blessing? A gift? It's the product of lies and betrayal, Isabella. Just like its mother."
The cruelty in his voice made me flinch, but I could see the hurt beneath it—the devastation of losing Connor's loyalty, of believing that everything had been a lie.
"What are you going to do?"
Marco's smile was sharp as broken glass, all predator and no warmth. His thumb traced a slow circle against my abdomen, the gesture both intimate and menacing.
"What do you think I'm going to do with a bastard child conceived in betrayal?" His voice dropped to that deadly whisper that had once promised protection but now only promised pain. "I'm going to cut it out of you like the cancer it is."
Terror flooded my system, every maternal instinct screaming in alarm. My hands instinctively moved to cover my stomach, to protect the life growing inside me.
"No. Marco, please—"
"You think I'm going to let you give birth to O'Brien's spawn? Let you play mother to a reminder of your faithlessness?"
His hand remained pressed against my stomach, possessive and threatening all at once. The weight of it felt like a death sentence.
"The bastard in your belly will be the next to pay the price for your choices, principessa."