Chapter 18 18

Chapter 18 18
Aurora
The next morning, the air feels crisp and fresh as I step out of the house. Damiano had already left for a business meeting, but not before pressing a kiss to my forehead and reminding me. “Spend whatever you need, Birdie. I want you to look like a queen.”
Sophia arrives right on time, her signature smile lighting up her face as she wraps me in a tight hug.
“Okay, bride-to-be,” she teases, holding me at arm’s length. “Let’s find you a dress that’ll knock Damiano off his feet.”
We drive into the city, and our first stop is an upscale bridal boutique Damiano’s assistant had arranged for us. The moment we step inside, soft music plays in the background, the air scented with peonies and vanilla. Rows of delicate gowns glimmer under warm lights, lace, silk, tulle, pearls. A stylist welcomes us and offers champagne, but I opt for water. Still reeling from all the recent changes.
Sophia leans closer. “You okay?”
I glance around the boutique, unsure how to explain the knot in my stomach. “It just feels… unreal. Like I blinked and suddenly I’m getting married to the most powerful underboss in this city.”
She watches me carefully. “But do you love him?”
I nod slowly. “I do. It’s just… a lot. We’ve been through so much. And now everything feels like it’s happening all at once.”
Sophia reaches for my hand. “You deserve this. After everything that happened—your mother, your past, the miscarriage, you deserve some joy. And if Damiano gives you peace, even in chaos, then hold onto it.”
Her words hit something deep inside me. I blink back tears and smile. “Thank you. I needed that.”
We begin trying on dresses. The first is too heavy, the second too glittery. But the third—it’s perfect. A fitted silk gown with delicate off-shoulder lace sleeves, and a flowing train that trails behind me like a dream. I step onto the platform and turn to see Sophia covering her mouth, tears already forming in her eyes.
“That’s it. That’s the one,” she whispers.
I turn toward the mirror, stunned by my own reflection. For the first time in days, I feel beautiful. Hopeful.
“I never thought I’d be a bride,” I murmur.
“But you are,” Sophia says behind me. “And you’re going to make one hell of a wife.”
Damiano’s POV
The air in the private lounge is thick with cigar smoke and the quiet murmur of men talking in low voices. We’re seated around the long mahogany table in my estate’s upper chamber—the boardroom where only the most trusted sit. My father is at my right, stoic as ever. Vincent leans back with his usual disinterest, arms crossed. My brothers are at the far end, glasses of whiskey in hand. And then there’s Mr. Rizzoto. Aurora’s stepfather. Always too smug. Always looking for a way in.
I clear my throat and rise from my seat.
“I appreciate all of you being here tonight,” I begin, straightening the cuffs of my black suit. “There’s a personal matter I want to announce before business.”
All eyes lift toward me. Some already suspect. My father narrows his gaze. He knows me too well.
“I will be marrying Aurora Moretti,” I say with finality. “The date will be set soon. She is to be respected as my future wife. Anyone who disrespects her disrespects me.”
The room falls into a stunned silence. A few nods. A few muttered congratulations. My father gives a single approving look.
And then it comes, his voice.
“Well,” Rizzoto speaks up with an arrogant smirk. “I heard she recently had a miscarriage.” He pauses, looks around as if expecting sympathy. “I’m grateful you’re still marrying her… even though she was pregnant by someone else.”
Time stops.
My blood boils. The red mist clouds my vision.
“What did you just say?” I ask, voice cold as ice.
“She was carrying the child of the godfather’s son,” Rizzoto says casually, as if stating the weather. “Pachino’s boy. Everyone’s whispering about it. Thought you should know before you crown her your queen.”
I don’t remember moving.
In a blink, my chair crashes to the ground and I’m across the table. My hand slams into his chest and I grab him by the collar, lifting him off his seat.
“You piece of shit!” I roar. “Say that again and I swear on Madonna I’ll rip your throat out!”
Chairs scrape. Voices rise.
Vincent and Enzo jump from their seats. My brothers surge forward. Hands pull me back. Arms wrap around my torso. I’m heaving. Shaking with fury. All I can see is red.
Rizzoto stumbles back, coughing, fixing his tie, pretending he wasn’t just seconds from death.
“I only said what I heard,” he smirks. “If she’s so loyal, let her prove it.”
I try to lunge again, but Vincent grabs me. “Damiano! Not here. This is what he wants.”
I shake them off. My jaw clenched so tight it hurts.
Everyone’s watching. The room feels like it’s on fire.
I look at my father, his face is unreadable. My fists are still trembling.
I know Aurora. I know she hasn’t been with anyone. Not since she came back into my life. Not since the café. Not since New York. That child was mine. I felt it.
But now, with that bastard’s words hanging in the air like poison, I need to hear it from her. I need to know.
I walk out of the room without another word, my heart split between rage and something far worse.
Doubt.
I slammed the door shut harder than I meant to. The echo vibrated through the halls, but I didn’t care. Rage churned in my gut like acid, and my hands were still shaking from the boardroom. That bastard Rizzoto’s words were ringing in my head on a loop, louder than reason, louder than logic. I should’ve broken his jaw. I almost did.
But the moment I stepped into the living room, everything in me shifted.
There she was—Aurora. Curled up on the couch, a hot water bag pressed gently to her lower abdomen. Her shoulders were hunched forward, her hair falling like a curtain around her face. She didn’t even hear me come in.
I walked over, slower now, my anger still simmering but buried beneath concern. “What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice low, gravelly.
She looked up at me.
Her eyes were swollen, cheeks wet with tears. “I’ve been having… cramps,” she said quietly. “They feel different. Worse than before.”
I knelt beside her, placing a hand on her knee. “Is it because of the miscarriage?”
She nodded. Her lips trembled. “It’s been on and off. But today… it’s bad.”
The fury inside me, toward Rizzoto, toward the whole damn world—took a step back. All I saw in that moment was her. The woman I loved, suffering.
“Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” I asked gently.
She shook her head. “No. I’ll be okay. Just need to rest.”
I hesitated, but nodded. It wasn’t the time—not to bring up what I heard. Not while she was like this.
I slid onto the couch next to her and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. Her head rested against my chest, her breathing shallow and uneven. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“You’ll be fine, Birdie,” I whispered. “I’m here.”
But even as I held her, trying to offer comfort, my mind was at war.
I wanted to believe her.
God, I needed to believe her.
But if she lied to me, if there was any truth in what Rizzoto said, I didn’t know what I’d do. Because love, once betrayed, can twist into something dangerous.
And I wasn’t sure if my heart could survive that again.