Page 114 of Dark Mafia Bride

“How is my baby?” I blurt, unable to stop myself. The words spill out before I even process them, and I can feel Ettore’s eyes boring into me as if he’s hanging on every syllable.

The doctor’s smile widens, and for a moment, I think I can finally breathe. “Your baby is okay, Mrs. Greco. We still need to perform another checkup before you’re discharged, but everything looks good for now.”

From Ettore’s expression, I know he’s already been told the details of my condition. I don’t know how to feel about that, and honestly, part of me doesn’t want to know. If he thinks I cheated on him, then...no.

Don’t think about it.

The doctor moves through her questions with a brisk efficiency. I answer her, but my mind keeps drifting back to Ettore—the man sitting so close yet feeling like a lifetime away. He asks about how long I’ll need to stay in the hospital, what I’ll need for a speedy recovery, and when I’ll need to come in for checkups because of the baby. The questions are well-meaning, but they make my skin crawl.

I stop myself from scoffing when he asks about the frequency of checkups. The last thing I want is for him to be involved in any of it.

When the doctor finishes, she gives me a quick nod, her expression satisfied. “Everything looks good for now,” she says. “I’ll check back in later.” With that, she steps out, leaving the two of us alone again.

The silence returns, I can feel Ettore’s gaze on me, and it burns. My hands clench around the thin hospital blanket, my chest tight, but I force myself to speak. “I’m not going back to your house,” I say quietly. “When my family comes, I’m leaving with them.”

Ettore’s jaw clenches, his eyes darkening. “You’re not leaving me,” he says, his voice dangerously low. “Especially not now. You’re carrying my child.”

His words freeze me in place, my breath catching. “How did you know?”

“The doctor told me how far along you are. It wasn’t hard to figure out,” he replies, his gaze unwavering.

“I see.”

He leans forward, frustration flashing across his face. “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s my baby too, Bella. I had a right to know.”

“Like you would have listened?” I say bitterly.

“Of course, I would have,” he argues, but I can’t help but scoff.

“Oh, like you did the last time?”

“Bella—”

“My name is Mirabella,” I snap. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It doesn’t change anything. You didn’t listen to me before, so don’t pretend to now.”

His shoulders sag slightly, and he rubs a hand over his face, as though he’s trying to steady himself. “I didn’t mean for thingsto get so out of control. I overreacted—I know that. But you can’t shut me out now. I would have kept you safe…”

But he doesn’t see it. The possessiveness in his tone, the way he’s already claiming this pregnancy as if it validates every hurtful word, every dismissal. I ignore the way my heart stutters, my pulse quickening against my will. He’s drawing a line, laying claim, as if it justifies everything.

“Safe?” I laugh bitterly, the sound harsh in the quiet room. “I was supposed to be safe with you, Ettore. You promised me safety but look where that got me.” My throat tightens, and I fight back the tears threatening to spill. “Just another thing you’ve failed at. I can’t...I can’t do this anymore.”

The guilt in his eyes is unbearable, and for a fleeting moment, I almost feel sorry for him. I can see how deeply it’s eating at him. But those feelings get swallowed by the weight of what he’s done. His pain doesn’t erase mine.

“Please,” he says, the word strangled in his throat, raw with desperation. “Don’t push me away. We can work through this.”

Before I can answer, the door bursts open, and my family floods in, their presence a wave of warmth and relief. I exhale, feeling the tightness in my chest loosen just a little when I see Nonna, Mamma, and Giulia rushing toward me.

I exhale deeply, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little as they surround me, their hands gently touching my shoulders, my arms, grounding me. For the first time since waking, I feel a sliver of relief, a sense of belonging that Ettore’s presence can’t provide.

“You’re okay.” Mamma sniffles, tears already in her eyes. “You’re alive.”

I hate seeing her like this—hating that I’ve put her through this, that she’s had to worry like this. Nonna’s eyes are red-rimmed, filled with concern as she takes both of my hands in hers, her grip tight, trembling.

“Thank God you’re okay,Mia Piccola!” she breathes. The relief in her voice is enough to make me feel grounded for a second. But then, her gaze shifts to Ettore, and that relief turns to something much darker.

“This is all your fault,” she spits, her voice shaking with fury. “And I swear to God, once we leave here, you’ll never see her again.” Her words hang in the air, heavy with threat, as if she could crush him with them. And maybe, just maybe, she could.

“You won’t take her from me,” Ettore says, his voice eerily calm but taut with an edge of something I can’t quite place.

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