Chapter 46 Old Flames, Old Wounds
Adriano’s POV:
Rage is a familiar taste on my tongue. I’ve carried it since I was a boy, tempered it, sharpened it, used it when needed. But tonight, it was different. Tonight it wasn’t business, or enemies, or deals gone wrong.
Tonight it was personal.
The memory of that bastard’s hand reaching toward Isabella’s arm kept replaying in my head. The way she flinched. The way her eyes widened, panic flashing for a split second.
It made me want to break bones.
We hadn’t taken much security because why would we? Luca, Matteo, and I together were a wall few dared to breach. But apparently, that wasn’t enough. Apparently, one drunk fool thought he could put his hands where they didn’t belong.
It wasn’t just the insult, it was the reminder. That she wasn’t safe. That Sofia wasn’t safe. That I hadn’t been there for years when she needed me most.
And that, whether she admitted it or not, I still had no claim to her.
The ride back to the house was quiet except for Sofia’s soft breaths in the back seat. Isabella kept her gaze fixed out the window, her hand stroking our daughter’s curls absently, as though grounding herself. She didn’t look at me once.
By the time we entered the house, my jaw ached from grinding my teeth.
“We need to talk,” I said lowly as she carried Sofia toward her room.
She stiffened at my words. I saw it. A small pause, a hesitation, before she forced herself to keep walking.
Of course she stalled. Of course she lingered.
I let her.
She tucked Sofia in with care that was both tender and deliberate, whispering lullabies, brushing hair back from her face, pressing kiss after kiss to her forehead. It wasn’t just out of love, she was buying herself time, hoping maybe I’d let it go.
I didn’t.
By the time she finally came down the hall, I’d poured myself a drink and was waiting in the study, I took one of the seats in front of the fireplace. the fire casting shadows against the walls. I sat there, a man holding back a storm, the glass steady in my hand even though my pulse pounded like a war drum.
When she entered, it was like watching a deer step into the open. Her eyes flicked to me, then to the fire, then to the floor.
She didn’t want this.
But neither did I, until that bastard laid a hand on her. Now I needed the truth.
“All night you’ve been avoiding me,” I said, voice calm but tight, like piano wire ready to snap.
She stayed close to the door, at the back of seat opposite me, her arms folded, her chin lifted just slightly.
Defensive.
I leaned forward. “Why didn’t you ever look for me?”
Her head jerked at the question. Exactly the wound I knew would cut deep.
“Don’t,” she said, voice trembling with restrained fury.
“No, Isabella. I need to hear it. You were everything to me. The air I breathed, the only goddamn thing that made sense in that chaos we called a life. And then the fire that night” My throat tightened, but I forced the words out. “Five years. Five years, and you didn’t even try.”
Her face flushed crimson. Her arms dropped.
“Try?” she spat, stepping forward now, fire flashing in her eyes. “You want to know why I didn’t try? Because I didn’t even know your real name Adriano! Who was I supposed to look for? because Adrian Morrou didn't exit.”
The sound of it, my real name, shook the room.
“You lied to me, you hid your true identity...” she continued, voice breaking but sharp as glass. “Every single day, every kiss, every promise, I thought I knew you, but I didn’t. I thought I lost the love of my life that night in the fire. I thought I lost the father of my child. And for five years, I had to pick up the pieces. Alone.”
Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.
“You want to stand here and accuse me of not trying? Do you have any idea what it was like to carry your child alone, to give birth to her alone, to raise her, to fight for every scrap of survival while thinking you were dead?”
Her words cut deeper than any blade. But I couldn’t let go of my rage. I knew my anger was misplaced but I didn't know what else to do.
“I had reasons,” I said, voice lower now, strained. “There were things you didn’t understand, things I couldn’t tell you then.” My excuse sounding weak even as I said it.
“Things you chose not to tell me,” she shot back. “Don’t twist this, Adriano. You kept me in the dark. You let me believe I’d lost you. I mourned you everyday for six years. You think I wouldn’t have moved heaven and earth to find you if I’d known the truth?”
I stood then, my drink forgotten. “You were mine!” The words ripped out of me. “You are mine, Isabella. You always have been.”
Her eyes glistened, tears trembling on the edge. But she didn’t back down.
“Yours?” she whispered, voice cracking. “You don’t get to say that. Not after lying about who you were. Not after disappearing. Not after letting me mourn you. You had two years of our relationship to come clean. You chose not to trust me. You don’t get to call me yours when for six years I belonged to no one but myself and my daughter and the ghost of the man I loved more than life.”
Tears streaming down her face. Silence fell like a hammer.
The fire crackled between us. My chest heaved. Her shoulders shook.
We were two people bound by love, broken by lies, and too damn stubborn to give an inch.
I wanted to reach for her, to pull her against me, to erase every hurt with a kiss so deep it made us forget. But I also wanted to shake her, to scream, to make her understand that my lies weren’t betrayal, they were survival.
Instead, I stood there, jaw clenched, heart bleeding, watching the woman I’d loved my entire life glare at me like I was both salvation and sin.
This was only the beginning.