Page 87 of Forbidden Vengeance

All of it gone because of my choices.

The awkward silence stretches between us like a physical thing. I resist the urge to fill it with excuses or explanations. We were closer than sisters once—sharing clothes and secrets and dreams.

Now we can barely look at each other.

“Why?” Bella asks finally, the single word carrying months of betrayal. “After everything we’ve been through together—after Johnny, after all of it. WhyMario?”

I force myself to maintain eye contact, knowing I owe my former best friend at least this much honesty. “It started as agame,” I admit. “A way to prove I was more than just the society party planner everyone underestimated. But then…”

“Then you fell in love with the man who terrorized my stepdaughter? Who tried to kill my husband? Who would have killed my babies given the chance?” Bella’s voice shakes with barely contained emotion. “Do you have any idea what Bianca went through? The nightmares, the therapy?—”

“I know what he did was unforgivable—” I start but Bella interrupts me, her nostrils flaring with anger.

“Unforgivable?” She laughs bitterly. “He tried to kill Bianca when she was twelve years old! And you seem to find that acceptable? So what were you doing? Planning parties and gathering intel while fucking Mario? Playing both sides while pretending to be my friend?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I protest, but the words sound hollow even to me.

“Then what was it like?” Her eyes flash with that Russo fire I used to admire. “Explain it to me, Elena. Explain how my best friend—the woman I trusted witheverything—could betray me so completely.”

“He’s different now,” I start, but her bitter laugh cuts me off.

“Different? Like every man in our world who claims to change but just finds new ways to destroy things?”

“No.” My hand rests on my bump, drawing strength from my daughter’s movements. “Different because he’s choosing to be better than their father’s legacy. Different because he’s willing to raise another man’s child, like Matteo did. To protect us both from Anthony, from the Irish, from everything.”

Bella scoffs. “And I’m supposed to just forgive everything because he’s decided to play hero?”

“I’m not asking for forgiveness,” I say quietly even though I desperately want it. “I don’t deserve it. But I am asking youto understand. You of all people know what it’s like to love someone others call a monster.”

Her expression transforms—not forgiveness, not yet, but understanding maybe. “You really love him?”

“Like you love Matteo.” I meet her eyes steadily. “Enough to risk everything. To choose something bigger than revenge or power or proving ourselves.”

Silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant sound of security teams patrolling the grounds. Finally, Bella reaches into her pocket, withdrawing her phone. “The twins,” she says softly, pulling up photos. “Giovanni is Matteo’s spitting image. It’s uncanny. But Arianna…she’s got my father’s eyes.”

My breath catches at this small olive branch. The babies are beautiful—four months old and thriving despite their early arrival. Giovanni already has Matteo’s serious expression, even with his chubby cheeks and toothless grin. Arianna is smaller but fiercer, dark eyes looking so much like Giovanni Russo’s it makes my chest ache.

“I’m having a girl,” I offer quietly. “Her name will be Stella. It means star.”

“Like something bright in the darkness?” Bella’s voice holds no judgment now, just wary acceptance.

“Like hope,” I correct, meeting her eyes. “For something better than what we came from.”

Bella studies me for a long moment before nodding once. “I’m not ready for you to meet them,” she says honestly. “Maybe I never will be. But…” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “I hope Stella has an easier path than any of us did.”

She slips back inside the mansion, leaving me alone with the weight of everything we’ve lost. It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even really reconciliation.

But as I watch my former best friend disappear into the warmth of the house, I realize it’s something almost more important.

It’s understanding.

The drive homefrom the DeLuca mansion feels surreal, the weight of what just happened settling over me like a blanket. Mario sits beside me in the back of the armored Mercedes, his hand never leaving mine as his security team takes a deliberately circuitous route back to our safe house.

Neither of us speaks—there’s too much to process, too many implications to consider.

My mind replays the photos of Bella’s twins. Beautiful, healthy babies. My niece and nephew in another life.

Giovanni with his father’s face but his mother’s chin. Arianna with her grandfather’s fighting spirit clear in that toothless grin. The fact that Bella showed me at all—that she let me glimpse this precious part of her life after everything I’ve done—makes my throat close up with emotion.

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