Chapter 44

Chapter 44

Isabella's POV
The afternoon sun filtered through the Mediterranean cypress trees in Villa Salvatore's Italian garden. Three days had passed since the paternity test blood draw, and I was still waiting for the results. My body ached from the injuries, but I'd insisted on getting some fresh air.
I sat on the marble bench beside the fountain, one hand resting on my growing belly. The fountain's gentle trickling was the only sound in the peaceful silence.
"You lying bitch!"
The harsh voice shattered the tranquility. I looked up to see Sigrid Larsson striding across the lawn, her blonde hair catching the afternoon light. Her perfect features were twisted with rage.
"You promised me you would leave!" she snarled, her Swedish accent thickening with emotion. "You swore on your unborn child's life that you would disappear forever!"
I stood slowly, my hand moving protectively to my stomach. The peaceful garden suddenly felt like a trap. "Sigrid, what are you talking about?"
"Don't play innocent with me!" Her voice rose to a near-shriek. "You gave me your word that night in the corridor. You said you'd take your bastard and disappear if I helped you escape."
The memory came flooding back—that desperate conversation when she'd found me with the pregnancy test.
"You're right," I said quietly, backing toward the fountain. "I did promise that. But you broke your word first."
"What?"
"You told Marco about the pregnancy." My voice grew stronger as the truth poured out. "You called his security team and reported my escape route. You betrayed me at every turn."
Sigrid's face went pale, but her fury didn't diminish. "I was protecting what was mine!"
"Marco was never yours."
"He should have been mine!" she screamed. "I'm perfect for him! I come from the right family, I have the right connections!"
"But he doesn't love you," I said simply.
"He would have!" Tears began streaming down her face. "If you hadn't existed, if you hadn't poisoned his mind—"
"Sigrid—"
"No!" She lunged forward, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking hard enough to make me cry out. "You destroyed everything! You killed Lucia, you manipulated Marco, you seduced that Irish bastard—"
"I didn't kill Lucia!" I pushed against her grip, trying to break free. "You know I didn't!"
"It doesn't matter!" Her laugh was unhinged. "The truth doesn't matter anymore. Marco will never love me as long as you're breathing."
She released my hair suddenly, causing me to stumble backward against the fountain's edge.
"You were supposed to disappear," Sigrid continued, her voice becoming eerily calm. "You were supposed to take your bastard and vanish forever. But here you are, playing house with my man, wearing his family's cross like you deserve it."
From behind her back, she produced a knife—a traditional Sicilian stiletto with an ornate silver handle.
"Now I'll have to make you disappear myself."
Terror flooded my system. "Sigrid, please—think about what you're doing. This is insane!"
"Is it?" Her smile was brilliant and unhinged. "With you gone, Marco will grieve for a while, then move on. And I'll be here to comfort him."
She raised the knife, sunlight glinting off its surface. "I've waited three years for this moment."
"I'm not a murderer!"
"You're about to be." She took another step closer. "When they find your body, it will look like suicide. Poor Isabella, unable to live with the guilt."
My back hit the marble wall surrounding the fountain. There was nowhere else to retreat.
"Goodbye, Isabella Romano."
Sigrid lunged forward, the knife aimed directly at my heart.
"Get away from her!"
Marco's voice cut through the garden like thunder. I saw him running toward us from the villa's terrace, his face a mask of lethal fury. But Sigrid was too close, the blade already descending.
In one fluid motion, Marco threw himself between us. The stiletto plunged deep into his left shoulder instead. The force sent him stumbling into me, his weight knocking us both against the fountain.
"Marco!" I caught him as he swayed, warm blood seeping through his white dress shirt. The knife remained embedded in his shoulder.
"Giuseppe!" Marco's voice was strained but still commanding. "Subito! Now!"
Heavy footsteps thundered across the garden as Salvatore soldiers converged on our position. Giuseppe and two others grabbed Sigrid, who was staring in shock at what she'd done.
"Take her away," Marco ordered through gritted teeth. "I never want to see her face again."
"Marco, no!" Sigrid screamed as they dragged her toward the villa. "I did this for us! I did this for you!"
"You did this for yourself," Marco replied coldly. "You always did everything for yourself."
Her screams faded as they pulled her inside, leaving us alone in the bloodstained garden.
"Cristo santo," Marco muttered, examining the knife in his shoulder. "She always did have excellent aim."
"Don't you dare joke about this," I said, my voice shaking. "You could have been killed!"
"Better me than you." His dark eyes met mine. "The baby?"
"Fine. We're both fine." I pressed my hand to my stomach. "But you're bleeding everywhere."
"It's not that bad."
"Marco, there's a knife sticking out of your shoulder. That's the definition of bad."
He laughed, then winced. "Fair point, principessa."
Giuseppe appeared with several other men, helping to support Marco's weight as we made our way to the waiting Mercedes.

At Benedetto Memorial Hospital, Dr. Moretti quickly examined Marco's wound while nurses prepared the surgical suite.
"The wound isn't too deep," Dr. Moretti explained as they wheeled Marco into surgery. "He should be fine after we remove the blade and stitch him up."
I waited in the corridor, my hands still stained with Marco's blood.
An hour later, Dr. Moretti emerged from the surgical suite, pulling off his gloves.
"The procedure went well," he announced. "No major damage. Don Marco will need rest, but he should make a full recovery."
Relief flooded through me. "Can I see him?"
"He's resting now, but he should wake up soon."
I entered the recovery room where Marco lay unconscious, his left arm in a sling. His face was pale but peaceful.
He took a knife meant for me, I thought, watching his chest rise and fall. He could have died protecting me.
But as I stood there in the quiet hospital room, another realization hit me. Today's attack wasn't random—it was because of who Marco was, what he represented. The violence, the enemies, the constant danger.
This is what my child's life would be like.
I touched my belly, feeling the small life growing inside. Violence. Knives. Blood. People trying to kill us.
Is this the world I want to bring my baby into?
Marco stirred slightly in his sleep, murmuring something in Italian. Even unconscious, he looked dangerous. Powerful. The kind of man who attracted enemies like Sigrid.
A dangerous thought began to form in my mind.
What if I ran now? While he's unconscious?