Page 72 of Forbidden Vengeance

Tears burn behind my eyes as memories flood back—late nights with Bella, planning the nursery while sharing gelato and dreams. How she’d grabbed my hands, eyes bright with joy, when asking me to be godmother. “You’re the only one I trust with them,” she’d said. “The only one who’s always been there.”

Now I’ll never even get to hold them.

My phone buzzes with a text from Mario:Tell me you’re alive.

They’re all safe, I reply.The twins are beautiful. Perfect.

His response makes my breath catch in my throat:You did the right thing, little planner. Even if they never know. Now get out of there before Matteo remembers he’s supposed to kill you.

I start to rise, to walk away from everything I’ve lost, when Bianca’s voice freezes me in place.

“I thought you’d still be here.”

I turn slowly. Bianca stands in the doorway, her face a battlefield of complicated emotions. For a moment, I see her as that scared twelve-year-old in the warehouse. Before any of us knew how choices could destroy everything we love.

“I was just leaving,” I say quietly.

“Good.” Bianca’s voice drips hatred. “But first—she asked for you. When she woke up. Even after everything, even knowing what you’ve done, her first thought was still to ask if you were here.”

She says that on purpose. To hurt me.

And it works.

I feel each word crack against my ribs, stealing my breath. Of course Bella would ask for me. Even after my betrayal, even after everything—that’s who she is. Who she’s always been. Better than all of us.

I force myself to breathe through the pain. “Tell her…” But what can I possibly say? What words could ever bridge this chasm I’ve created? “Tell her I’m glad they’re healthy. That I—” My voice breaks. “That I’m sorry. For everything.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix what you andhedid.” Bianca’s hand drifts to her gun again. “If I ever see you near my family again…”

“You won’t.” I straighten my shoulders, squaring myself against the weight of all my choices. “Take care of them, B. Those babies are lucky to have you as their big sister.”

I walk away before she can respond, my heels clicking against hospital tiles for what I know will be the last time. The sound echoes through empty corridors like a funeral march. Everything I’ve built, every relationship I’ve cultivated, all of it sacrificed for a love that both saves and damns me.

My phone buzzes one final time—a photo from one of the nurses I trusted. The twins in their separate NICU incubators, tiny but fighting. Giovanni, slightly larger, dark hair visible beneath his breathing tubes. Arianna, smaller but already showing her mother’s determination in the way she grips her father’s finger.

Matteo stands between them, his usual controlled expression cracked with worry as he watches his children fight for every breath.

Bella isn’t in the photo—she’d still be in recovery after the emergency C-section. But I know she’s probably demanding updates every few minutes, refusing to rest until she can see them.

I delete the photo immediately, but the image burns behind my eyes. Those tiny babies, so fragile yet so loved, fighting to survive their early arrival into this dangerous world.

Babies I’ll never get to hold, never get to watch grow up.

In the parking garage, Mario waits in a borrowed car, his face tight with worry. He doesn’t speak as I slide into the passenger seat, just reaches for my hand. His fingers are warm against mine, an anchor in the storm of loss threatening to drown me.

“Take me home,” I whisper, and feel him squeeze my fingers in silent support.

I don’t look back as we drive away. I made my choice the moment I let Mario into my life, trading one family for another. The weight of it sits heavy in my chest.

A reminder that every choice has consequences, that love and loss are two sides of the same blade.

Now I have to learn to live with the scars.

23

MARIO

It’s been three weeks since Matteo and Bella’s twins were born, and the silence is driving me insane. Even the Irish have gone dark—no threats from O’Connor, no cryptic messages from Siobhan. My sources are stumped by the sudden quiet.

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