Bella

Navigating through the aftermath of my ordeal left me grappling with emotions I'd never fully explored. From leading a powerful organization to feeling vulnerable and dependent, the shift was abrupt and disorienting. Marco had been attentive, checking in on me regularly, yet giving me space, perhaps too much. I was left to wonder about his thoughts and actions, which seemed shrouded in secrecy as he likely dealt with the fallout of my situation.

I pondered over my new reality. Normalcy was a foreign concept; I chuckled humorlessly at the thought of engaging in typical prenatal activities. Yoga? Childbirth classes? These mundane routines were as alien to me as peace had been to my former life. Yet here I was, contemplating a quieter life that was never part of my plans.

The intrusion of a familiar, comforting presence pulled me from my reverie. "Good Morning," Marco's mother greeted warmly, entering with a tray of breakfast. Her presence was a balm to my unsettled spirit.

"Good Morning," I managed, adjusting my position carefully to avoid the sharp stings from my bruises.

"Has Marco been by?" she inquired, setting the tray down and eyeing me with concern.

"Not since a couple of days ago. I'm sure he's busy cleaning up my mess," I responded, trying to mask the bitterness with humor.

She took a seat beside me on the bed, her expression softening. "Stop portraying yourself as a burden because we don't see you like that. You two made this baby out of love, and nothing could possibly be wrong with that." Her words, sincere and comforting, eased some of the weight from my shoulders. She leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead—a maternal gesture that filled a void I hadn't realized was growing.

"Olivia wants us to help with the final wedding plans. So eat up and join us when you can," she added, standing to leave with the grace of someone accustomed to caring for others.

Left alone, her words echoed in my mind, nurturing a sliver of hope. Perhaps there was a place for me here, a role I could embrace beyond the chaos of my former life. The idea of helping with Olivia's wedding, of participating in something joyous and normal, was strangely appealing.

As I nibbled on the breakfast, a plan began to form. Maybe it was time to redefine what normal could mean for me. Stepping into a role that included being part of a family, helping with wedding plans, and preparing for a baby wasn't just about adapting to Marco's world—it was about crafting a new one for myself, where love and family might just be enough to rebuild the peace I'd lost.

Marco

As Felipe and I walked through the potential strategies for ensuring Bella's and the baby's safety, my mind was a turmoil of emotion and calculated risk. "No, she would never do that," I insisted, rejecting the idea of manipulating Bella into a marriage just to secure her safety. It felt wrong, like I would be exploiting her vulnerability.

"Why not? Getting married and making her a part of the cartel is the only way they both are safe before you demand things from the Order. She can reclaim Italy later," Felipe argued, his reasoning clear but cold, more strategic than emotional.

"You think I haven't thought of this already? She doesn't want to marry me. I haven't been good to her," I admitted, the weight of my past actions pressing down on me. My failures with Bella were not just missteps; they were deep wounds that I feared might never heal.

Felipe paused, allowing the gravity of our discussion to sink in. Then, unexpectedly, he shared his own burden. "I cheated on Olivia," he confessed, his voice low. "I had one of the weakest moments a man could have, but the morning after, all I could think of was her. If you love Bella, I think it's time you both stop playing games and figure out what's really important."

His words struck a chord. Felipe's own lapse and subsequent clarity threw my situation into stark relief. Love, real and unselfish, demanded more than just desires and regrets—it required action, sacrifice, and sometimes, the courage to make amends.

"Now let's go pick up the tuxes," Felipe said, his smile suggesting a lightness that I envied. As we headed to the tailor, his advice lingered in my mind. The simplicity of his resolution—to confront and confess, to strive for redemption with those we love—seemed like the only path forward.

I was resolved. I needed to have an honest conversation with Bella, one where we could lay out all our cards, address our past, and plan a future that might not be perfect but was forged in truth. If there was a chance for us, it wouldn't come from strategies or safety plans, but from the raw, challenging, and healing dialogue about what we truly meant to each other.

Bella

Olivia's genuine happiness was a stark contrast to the complexity of my own emotions. Watching her interact so effortlessly with Felipe's and Marco's families, I felt a twinge of envy for the straightforwardness of her love story. Her certainty made me question the tangled web of feelings and obligations that defined my relationship with Marco.

"Why are you sitting here all alone?" Olivia's voice pulled me from my thoughts as she sat down beside me with a warm smile.

"I was just thinking how happy I am that you are happy. You are happy, right? I mean, this was arranged and all," I probed, needing to hear her truth. Her answer might offer me some guidance or, at the very least, a reflection of my own predicaments.

"It was arranged, and we fell in love really fast. We had a few obstacles, but it didn't stop how I felt. I know you worry, but I promise he's the one," she replied confidently. Her words were reassuring, yet they sparked a deeper question within me.

"Is Marco the one?" she turned the question to me, her gaze inquisitive.

My eyes shifted, avoiding hers as I grappled with the reality of that question. The truth was, I had considered it more now than ever. The thought of Marco as 'the one' was intertwined with love but also marred by the pain and betrayal we'd endured. I didn't want our potential union to feel like an obligation borne out of the circumstances of our child.

"I'm in love with him, but I'm also hurt and angry," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm thinking of our future, but I feel so defeated."

Olivia reached out and took my hand, her touch grounding. "Bella, love is complex, and yes, it can be painful. But it's also about overcoming the defeats and finding strength together. You both need to decide what's truly important and whether you can move past the hurt."

Her advice was gentle but pointed. The decision loomed large—not just about accepting Marco but about whether we could truly forgive, heal, and build something lasting. The joy and certainty Olivia found in her relationship were something I longed for, but I knew the path to possibly achieving it with Marco would require open, honest communication and perhaps, a leap of faith. The thought was daunting, but also filled with a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, we could find our way through the turmoil and come out stronger on the other side.

The unexpected sight of Marco sitting on my bed as I entered the room instantly shifted the atmosphere. The surprise in my voice when I greeted him seemed to weigh heavily on him, his expression somber.

"Since you've been here we haven't been able to talk, it's been endless doctors' appointments and fear of rejection," he began, the words tumbling out in a rush. It was clear he had been holding onto a lot.

"I haven't rejected you," I responded firmly, wanting to make sure he understood that despite everything, I hadn't pushed him away.

Marco reached out, gently clutching my hand, his touch conveying more than his words ever could. "I know, Bella, but I still fear this. I am not good at expressing my feelings or words but I want to change this... for you. I'm sorry it took me so long to come to you, but I'm here now," he confessed, his voice laden with a mix of regret and hope.

His earnest declaration stirred a tumult of emotions within me. "Being here now... You were with me when Keta marched into your room and you two did whatever. I hate you, Marco. I hate you," I admitted, the bitterness and hurt spilling over. The memory of his betrayal was like a fresh wound, painful and raw.

As he turned towards the door, seemingly to leave, a softer, more vulnerable voice within me added, "But... I love you more than I hate you." The words were barely a whisper, but they stopped him in his tracks.

He turned back swiftly, closing the distance between us with a few strides. His kiss was desperate, seeking forgiveness, seeking connection. "I'm sorry," he murmured against my lips, his embrace tightening around me.

"I love you," I confessed as he held me, allowing myself to be vulnerable, to acknowledge the depth of my feelings despite the pain. In that moment, wrapped in Marco's arms, I felt a mix of fragility and strength. It was a step towards healing, a step towards understanding each other and perhaps, a step towards a future where we could face our challenges together, not apart.