Chapter 65 Chapter 65
Dante
The sound of her body hitting the floor makes my blood run cold.
“Belladonna!” I roar, dropping to my knees. Her head has struck the marble lion, and blood seeps down her temple. The sight ripsthrough me. I slide my arms beneath her fragile frame, lifting her against my chest. She’s limp. Too still.
“Fuck, no...Bella, wake up!” My voice cracks, desperate. I shake her gently, pressing my forehead against hers, but she doesn’t stir. Her skin is pale except for the angry red mark on her cheek—her father’s handprint, still burning there.
My pulse is a war drum inside my chest. I’ve killed men with my bare hands, watched them bleed out without flinching. But this—her blood—makes me tremble like a coward.
“Car. Now!” I bark. Sebastian doesn’t waste a second, he’s already sprinting out the door. I clutch her tighter and charge after him, Enzo right on my heels.
Outside, the cars are waiting. I slide into the back seat with her on my lap, cradling her head so the wound doesn’t worsen. “Stay with me, Belladonna.” My words fall into the silence, but she gives me nothing. Her lashes don’t even flutter.
Sebastian slams his foot on the gas, the engine growling as we tear down the road. My grip on her tightens. I can feel the faint rhythm of her breathing against my chest, and yet it’s not enough—I need her eyes open, her voice, and her fire.
We reach the nearest clinic in minutes. I don’t wait for anyone to open the door. I scoop her into my arms and burst inside, shouting for help. Nurses rush forward with a stretcher, and I lay her down, my hands reluctant to let go even for a second.
They wheel her toward the emergency room, the double doors slamming shut in my face.
And just like that—I’m useless.
I sink onto the bench in the corridor, my hands stained with her blood. My heart is a storm, my chest tight. For the first time in years, fear—real fear—has its claws in me.
And it’s all because of her.
An hour crawls by like a lifetime before the doctors finally allow us to see her. Her mother and Enzo rush in first, and I stay back in the corridor, pacing like a caged animal. My hands are still stained with her blood—I can’t bring myself to wash it off, as if letting it go would mean I failed her.
Minutes later, Enzo steps out and nods toward the door. My turn.
I push it open slowly, my chest tightening with every step I take inside. The antiseptic stench of the room greets me first, then the sight of her—Belladonna—lying against crisp white sheets.
Her head is wrapped in bandages, a thin plaster running across her temple. A line of stitches hides beneath. A clear serum drips slowly into the vein of her delicate arm, tubing running to the IV stand beside her.
My heart stutters. Relief crashes over me like a wave, heavy and suffocating. She’s alive. Breathing. Her chest rises and falls. For the first time since she collapsed in my arms, I exhale.
Her mother is murmuring something soft to her, brushing strands of hair away from her bandaged head. Then, her eyes, those stormy, untamed eyes, shift and land on me.
For a second, I brace for the fire. The anger, the spit of venom about the wedding, about being trapped to me. But it doesn’t come. Her gaze is calm. Empty. Almost too empty.
And then her voice slices through the silence.
“Mom… what is Dante doing here?”
The words hit harder than any bullet I’ve ever taken. She says my name like I don’t belong here, like I’m a stranger. And the worst part, she doesn’t even sound angry. Just… confused.
Does she even remember?
I take a step back, throat dry, and leave the room before her mother can answer. My boots echo down the hallway until I find the doctor’s office. He gestures for me to sit, and I sink into the chair, my hands gripping the armrests.
“How is she?” My voice is sharp, impatient. I need answers.
The doctor pulls out a file, laying scan films in front of me. Shadows of her skull, black and white images I don’t fully understand—but the weight in his tone tells me everything.
“We’ve stitched the wound. Physically, she will heal with time.” She adjusts the glasses on her nose. “But…” Her finger taps on the scans. “She doesn’t remember the incident. She doesn’t remember the fight, or the wedding announcement, or even collapsing. For her, the last memory is from that morning—she woke up, showered, wore a pink dress, and her mother told her they had works,to do. That’s all.”
I sit there frozen, my jaw clenching. She doesn’t remember.
The doctor’s voice pulls me back. “Do not force her to remember. If she pushes herself, it could worsen her condition. For now, it’s best to keep her somewhere calm, away from stress. With someone she feels safe, someone who makes her happy.”
Her words stab me deep, clean through the chest. Someone who makes her happy.I lean back in the chair, fists tightening. My throat burns with the truth I don’t want to admit.
That someone… is definitely not me.
For a twisted second, I feel relief. She’s been spared the memory of that humiliation, the pain that made her crumble in my arms. And if fate is giving her this clean slate… then I’ll damn well protect it.
If she doesn’t remember the arranged marriage proposal, then I’ll make sure no one reminds her. Not her father, not the godfather, not even my own blood. I’ll put a bullet through anyone who dares push this conversation again.
They can talk about alliances, business, power plays all they want—Belladonna’s name stays out of their mouths.
This isn’t about the families anymore. This is about her.
I run a hand over my face, feeling the weight of it all pressing down, but my resolve hardens like steel.
If she ever chooses me, it won’t be because some old men forced her into it. It will be because she wants to. Until then, the marriage is off the table.
Over my dead body will anyone push her into it again.