Chapter 43 Something soft in a violent world
Lina’s POV
I woke up with my hand already on my stomach. I snatched it away like I’d touched a hot stove.
“Stop,” I muttered to myself, staring at the ceiling. “You’re being dramatic.”
Morning light spilled through the curtains, soft and harmless, like the world I was trapped in wasn’t built on secrets and bullets. For a moment, I just lay there, listening to the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen downstairs.
Normal sounds. Normal morning. But my body didn’t feel normal.
The nausea from yesterday hasn’t returned in full force, but a faint, rolling unease lingered low in my belly. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood carefully, testing my balance like I didn’t fully trust the ground.
“You’re fine,” I told my reflection in the mirror. I looked pale, tired, eyes too big in my face.
“Stress,” I added. “That’s all.” I said it with confidence. I didn’t believe it, my words felt hollow.
Bella found me in the garden again. She was pruning roses, her gray-streaked hair pulled back, expression was calm.
“You didn’t eat much dinner,” she said without looking up, as she continued to do what she was.
“I wasn’t hungry,” I simply stated.
She clipped another stem. “You also barely slept. I heard you walking.”
“I had things on my mind.”
“That much is clear.”
I crossed my arms. “Are we going to do this again?”
She finally looked at me. Not pushy. Not smug. Just… steady. “You came back out here. That means you’re thinking about it.”
“I’m thinking about a lot of things.”
“Donna—”
“Lina,” I snapped. “Just Lina. Not today.”
Her brows lifted slightly, confusion knitting itself in her experience but she nodded.
“Lina, then,” she hesitated before calling my name. “What are you afraid of?”
I opened my mouth with ten different denials ready. None of them came out. Instead, I looked toward the house, toward the guards by the gates, toward the long driveway that led to a life I never chose.
“I’m afraid of being wrong,” I said quietly, admitting to my fears.
“And if you’re not?”
My jaw tightened. “Then I’m still not telling him.” The words slipped out faster than I intended it to.
Bella didn’t react right away. “Signor has a right—”
“No,” I said defensively. “He has enough to deal with. Meetings. Enemies. Territory fights. He doesn’t need this in his head either.”
“This?” she asked gently.
I hesitated. Then, lower, “A maybe.” She studied me for a long moment. Then she set down the shears. “What do you need?”
I swallowed. The words felt like stepping off a ledge. “A test.”
Bella didn’t flinch. “All right.”
“But not from the usual pharmacy or hospital, that would alert him,” I added quickly. “And not through the main staff. One of the outer guards. Someone who doesn’t ask questions.”
“You think word will spread?”
“I know it will.” I met her eyes. “And I am not having this reach Carlino before I decide what it even means.”
Bella nodded once. “I’ll handle it.”
As she walked toward the house, my heart started pounding like I’d just set something irreversible in motion.
Maybe I had.
Hours passed by. Waiting was worse than not knowing. I tried to read. The words blurred. I tried to eat. The smell made my stomach turn. I tried to sit still, but my leg kept bouncing like I was waiting for a verdict.
By afternoon, I was pacing the bedroom when there was a soft knock. Bella slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She held a medium paper bag.
No labels. No logos. Discreet.
My throat went dry.
“He didn’t ask questions,” she said quietly. “Told him to get five.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Bella set the bag on the dresser between us. Neither of us reached for it at first, like it might explode.
“You don’t have to do it now,” she finally said.
“Yes, I do.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. “If I wait, I’ll talk myself out of it.”
She gave a small nod.
I took the bag and walked into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click that sounded too loud in the silence. It was as if the door was meant to echo in the deafening silence.
I leaned against the sink for a second, staring at my reflection again.
“This is stupid,” I whispered. “You’re overreacting, Lina.”
My hands shook as I opened the box.
The minutes after felt like hours. I set the test on the counter and couldn’t stop staring at it, like if I watched hard enough I could say what I wanted.
Negative.
Normal.
It's just stress.
I paced the big bathroom, arms wrapped around myself. My mind tried one last time to bargain.
You’ve been through hell. Bodies shut down after trauma. Cycles skip. People get sick. This doesn’t mean anything.
I turned back to the counter.
Two lines.
Clear. Unmistakable. Cruel.