Chapter 185
Vitale sat in the top-floor office of Tyson Group, with encrypted files spread out in front of him. They contained the latest intelligence analysis on Barton's possible hiding spots, along with urgent requests related to shady business dealings that needed his immediate decisions.
But his eyes weren't focused on a single line of text.
His fingers absentmindedly toyed with his phone, the tips turning slightly pale from the pressure.
Jerry's regular encrypted updates described Isabella's heart rate, brainwave activity, and reactions to medication in cold, objective medical terms...
But they never mentioned what Vitale most wanted to know.
Did Isabella call his name in her dreams?
When she woke up, would he be the first person she thought of?
Was she still afraid of him?
It had been over two days since he sent Isabella to Jerry.
Every minute and second felt stretched endlessly, crawling slowly through anxiety and unease.
Vitale forced himself to deal with the mountain of tasks piling up, trying to numb the aching longing and worry with busyness, but it barely helped.
Her tearful, resistant face kept flashing before his eyes, and her pained moans from nightmares seemed to echo in his ears.
Just as he was on the verge of losing control and ready to rush to the medical base regardless of everything, the internal communicator let out a sharp buzz.
It was Jerry.
Vitale grabbed the receiver almost instantly, his heart jumping to his throat.
"Mr. Luca," Jerry's voice came through the line, "Ms. Lorraine is awake. Fully awake, conscious, and able to communicate normally."
She's awake!
A surge of joy shot through Vitale like an electric current, nearly making him leap out of his chair.
But right after, a deeper tension gripped him.
What state was Isabella in after waking up?
Did she still remember him? Was she still afraid of him?
Without wasting a word or even responding to Jerry, Vitale dropped the receiver, grabbed his suit jacket from the back of the chair, and stormed out of the office, leaving behind a group of confused executives staring at each other.
Speeding through the streets, running who-knows-how-many red lights, he cut the usual forty-minute drive down to twenty, reaching Jerry's remote medical base in the suburbs.
The car screeched to a stop in front of the main building with a near-drift, and he shoved the door open, striding quickly toward the special care ward where Isabella was.
Just as Vitale was about to push open the heavy soundproof door to her room, his steps suddenly froze.
He was scared.
Scared that when he opened the door, he'd see a pair of blue eyes still filled with fear and distance.
Scared that Jerry's treatment might have made her forget things or changed something in her.
He stood at the door, taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heartbeat.
Then, Vitale did something that even surprised himself.
He raised his hands and roughly rubbed his face, stiff and numb from lack of sleep, as if trying to scrub away all the exhaustion, anxiety, and unease.
Then, he lowered his head, pressed his hands together against his forehead, and in an almost reverent whisper, began to pray, "God, if you really exist, considering I haven't bothered you much all these years, do me a favor..."
Vitale paused, as if choosing his words or suppressing some intense emotion.
"I hope, Jerry, that bastard, didn't mess up my Isabella, make her dumb, or make her lose her memory. If she dares to forget who I am..."
His voice suddenly dropped, carrying a mix of threat and deadly seriousness, "I'll smash Jerry's lower half, with the dullest knife. I mean it. Amen."
As soon as this least pious, most violently threatening prayer in history ended, two muffled laughs came from behind him.
Vitale's body stiffened, and he whipped around.
There was Jerry, leaning against the corridor wall, hands in the pockets of his white coat, a teasing smile in his eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses.
Next to him, Amboni was also struggling to hold back laughter, clearly having overheard every word of that prayer.
"God probably won't accept a prayer with such a clear personal threat, Mr. Luca," Jerry said, pushing up his glasses with a light, mocking tone, "And as a doctor, I must strongly protest your curse on my personal safety."
Amboni shook his head with a grin, "Come on, Vitale, we all know you're joking. Jerry's your golden boy. You wouldn't touch him, right?"
Vitale looked at the smiles on their faces, tugged at the corner of his mouth, but didn't argue.
Only he knew deep down that at least half of what he said was serious.
If Isabella really forgot him because of the treatment or got worse, he didn't know what he'd do.
"How's Isabella?" Vitale ignored their teasing, his intense gaze locking onto Jerry.
"She's doing well," Jerry said, dropping his playful tone and becoming serious, "Better than expected. She's fully conscious, logical, and while her emotions are still a bit complicated, they've stabilized a lot."
"You'll see for yourself when you go in, but I suggest you..."
Vitale didn't even wait to hear the rest of his advice. He reached out and pushed open the door to the ward.
The moment the door opened, the scene inside came into view.
Under the soft lighting, Isabella was half-reclining on the raised hospital bed, covered with a pristine white blanket.
Her face was still a bit pale, but those blue eyes were like a sky washed clean by rain—clear, bright, and even carrying a faint hint of a smile.
She was slightly tilting her head, listening to something a young nurse by her bedside was saying, her lips curving up into a long-lost, though weak, yet genuine and lively smile.
That smile, like a ray of sunlight piercing through heavy clouds, struck Vitale's heart in an instant.
A rush of warmth surged to his eyes, blurring his vision.
It was his Isabella.
The Isabella who could smile, who had little tempers, who relied on him, and who sometimes playfully teased him—she was back.
No fear, no distance, no breakdown. At least not in this moment.
Overwhelming joy and a dizzying sense of happiness from regaining what was lost flooded Vitale.
He stood at the doorway, feeling a bit at a loss, afraid that his presence might disturb this beautiful, almost unreal scene.
It was Isabella who noticed him first.
She turned her head, her gaze landing on the tall, somewhat rigid figure at the door.
The smile on her face paused for a moment, a brief flicker of surprise in her eyes, as if she was confirming something or sorting through the complex emotions surging up in an instant.
Then, the smile that had just bloomed clearly faded.
But what replaced it wasn't fear or distance—it was an unusual calmness, a thoughtful and clear-headed composure.
Isabella looked at him, her voice soft but clear as it reached him, "Vitale."
Her voice was still a bit hoarse, but it no longer trembled.
"I'm okay," Isabella answered the concern he might have expressed through Jerry, or perhaps never voiced aloud.
Then, she paused before making a request, "But I want to talk to you, okay?" Her tone was gentle yet firm as she added, "I mean, just the two of us. Is that alright?"
This request caught Vitale off guard.
A private talk?
A faint alarm bell rang in his mind, unsure of what was brewing beneath this calm surface.
But as he looked into Isabella's clear, determined eyes, he couldn't bring himself to say no.
"Of course," Vitale nodded, his voice a bit rough.
He turned slightly, giving Jerry and Amboni a look from the doorway.
Amboni's face showed worry, as if he wanted to say something, but Jerry lightly tugged at his arm.
"It's fine, Mr. Scott," Jerry said quietly but clearly, with the calm, all-knowing demeanor of a doctor, "Trust me, okay? Besides..."
He glanced into the room, a meaningful smirk tugging at his lips, "Vitale, you're not going to lose to a woman, are you?"
Amboni silently grumbled to himself that it wasn't a sure thing, especially when that woman was Isabella.
But in the end, he said nothing, quietly stepping back with Jerry, who closed the door behind them.
Finally, it was just the two of them in the room.
Vitale walked to the bedside but didn't sit down right away. He just stood there, gazing at Isabella deeply, almost greedily.
He wanted to hold her—desperately so. He wanted to pull the regained Isabella into his arms, to confirm with the most real touch that this wasn't a dream.
His Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke, his voice thick with suppressed longing and a trace of barely noticeable nervousness, "Isabella, I want to hold you."
The request was so direct, so unguarded.
Isabella visibly froze when she heard Vitale's words.
A flash of incredibly complex emotions crossed her eyes—nostalgia, longing, but also a hint of lingering tension.
Just as Vitale felt the string in his heart tighten again, expecting to see her shrink back in fear, with the familiar storm of frustration starting to brew in his eyes, Isabella quickly spoke up, her tone hurried and clearly meant to reassure, "No, I mean..." She rushed to explain, noticing the instant darkening of Vitale's expression, and added, "After we talk, I'll let you hold me. You know that."
Isabella lowered her gaze slightly, her voice softening but still clear, carrying a raw honesty as if laying herself bare, "I've missed you too."
Those words acted like a powerful sedative, instantly smoothing over the anger and unease swirling in Vitale's eyes.