Page 19 of Triplets for the Mafia Prince

Suddenly, I'm in the car on the side of the road. Bella isn’t in the driver’s seat. Where the fuck is she? I get out of the car, making sure I have my gun. Maybe we were stopped by a cop. Maybe we’ve been found.

When I reach the back of the car, she slams the trunk closed, and I think she’s in on this. I hold my gun on her. I should kill her. I can’t protect myself and figure out what’s going on with her as extra baggage.

“Niccolo, I see you’ve brought me my prize.”

I whirl around, and there’s my father.

“I told you she was beautiful, didn’t I? The Society is going to love?—”

“No.” I won’t let Bella become one of my father’s toys shared among the other perverts in his group. I lift my gun and shoot round after round into his face as he laughs at me.

I shake my head, like I know it’s a dream, but I don’t wake up. Instead, I’m paralyzed on the couch in the cabin. The driver of the car is standing next to a tied-up Bella, his fingers toying with her hair with a sick, leering smile on his face.

“You said you’d protect me,” she says to me. “I saved you, and now you’ve killed me.”

She’s not wrong. While I’ve never seen myself as a hero, I hate that I’ve failed her.

The driver holds up his gun toward me, and a part of me is relieved all this is about over. He pulls the trigger.

I jolt awake, my hands going to my gut, but I don’t feel more blood. The cabin comes into focus, and I see Bella's furious face. She's managed to scoot her chair closer to the couch, close enough to kick me.

"I need to use the bathroom," she hisses.

"Shit," I mutter, pushing myself up with a groan. The room spins for a moment, and I have to take a few deep breaths before I can stand.

I shuffle over to her, my side screaming in protest with every step. As I start to untie her, I notice the twine has left angry red marks on her wrists. I feel like I should apologize.

I finish untying her and step back, watching as she rubs her wrists and stands, a little unsteady after being bound for so long. She glares at me, then heads for the bathroom without another word. I follow her with every intention to keep control over her, even though I’m aware that in my current state, she can overpower me.

I realize now that I can’t restrain her. Not just because I don’t have the strength, but it’s not fair. If I do die, she needs to be able to save herself.

The bathroom door opens, and Bella emerges, looking slightly less murderous. “I’d offer to check your wound, maybe even see if there is a spare shirt so you don’t have to wear one crusted with your own blood, but I’m tired of being nice to you.”

I nod. “I deserve that. I won't tie you up again.”

She rolls her eyes. “Like you could. One stiff breeze and you’ll be on your back. I should leave you?—”

I let out a humorless chuckle that turns into a groan of pain. "Go ahead. But out there… you're as good as dead." Okay, so that came out harsher than I meant. Still, she needs to understand that she doesn’t know what she’s up against. Hell, I’m not sure what we’re up against.

“So, what happens when you die? Am I supposed to hide in this cabin forever?”

I shake my head, immediately regretting the movement as dizziness washes over me. “Hide your appearance and go out to buy a burner phone. Hopefully, no one will think of looking foryou in Michigan. Then call that number I gave you. I promise you, Bella, he’ll help.”

“Like you’re helping?” Her tone is laced with sarcasm.

I don’t have the strength to keep up the conversation. “You don’t have to like me. I get that you don’t trust me. But if you want to live, I am your best chance, or Max if I don’t make it. I think you’re smart enough to realize that.”

She purses her lips at me. “Well, since I’d rather deal with the devil I know, why don’t I find a shirt and then check your bandages?”

I’m surprised she doesn’t find a bat to beat me with. It tells me that deep down, she knows I’m right and wants me to live if only to make sure she doesn’t die.

I manage to make it back to the couch while she wanders off down a hall. She reappears with a large flannel shirt. “It’s too big, but better than too small, right?”

She helps me take off my shirt and put on the large flannel that smells like pine and smoke in a cozy way.

She disappears again, reappearing with more first aid gear. I lie on the couch as she kneels next to it to check my wound. I’m able to notice this time that her fingers are long, her hands warm and gentle. I close my eyes, savoring it. It's been a long time since anyone's shown me this kind of care. In my world, kindness is a rare commodity, often viewed as weakness. But there's strength in Bella's gentleness, a quiet resilience that I’m growing to admire.

“It looks like the bleeding has stopped. The owner here is a doctor, and I found a kit to close your wounds.” She holds up a box of stitchless wound closers, something our family doc carries around for situations like mine.

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