Chapter 27 - Bianca #2
The rage that fills me is cold and vast, an ocean of fury that I have no outlet for. I want to scream. Want to break something. Want to find Carmine Benedetti and make him pay for every single thing he's done to me.
Instead, I throw the phone across the greenhouse. It bounces off an overturned pot and skids across the floor, disappearing under a pile of debris.
Then I sit down among the ruins of my sanctuary and cry.
***
Misha finds me there an hour later.
I don't know how long I've been sitting in the dirt, surrounded by broken glass and dead plants, but the light has changed—softer now, the afternoon fading toward evening. My tears have dried, leaving my face tight and salty, my eyes swollen.
He doesn't say anything. Just steps through the debris, sits down on the floor beside me, and waits.
"My father withdrew me from medical school," I say finally. "Three weeks ago. Right after the auction, probably. My spot is gone. My entire academic career—gone."
Silence.
"I talked to Leslie. My friend from the study group.
She was so worried. They all were. They filed a missing persons report, and my family told them I'd gone abroad, and nobody believed it but nobody could prove otherwise.
" I laugh bitterly. "My father thought of everything.
Erased me so completely that I can't even go back if I wanted to. "
"Do you want to?"
I look at him. He's watching me with that steady gaze, his expression unreadable.
"I don't know," I admit. "That life feels like it belonged to someone else now. Someone who didn't know what her family really was. Someone who thought she could escape through hard work and good grades." I shake my head. "That person doesn't exist anymore."
"The person sitting next to me seems real enough."
"She's different. She's..." I struggle for words. "She's killed people. She's carrying a child she didn't plan for. She's in—"
I stop myself. But the word hangs in the air anyway, unspoken but unmistakable.
Misha goes very still.
"I have a solution," he says after a long moment. "If you want to hear it."
"Tell me."
"There's a private medical program in San Francisco.
Small, exclusive, accelerated curriculum.
They specialize in unconventional students—people who can't attend traditional institutions for various reasons.
" He meets my eyes. "I can get you enrolled.
Security protocols in place, transportation arranged, everything you need to continue your education without compromising your safety. "
"You've already looked into this."
"I started making inquiries the day after the rescue."
Of course he did. Because that's who he is—always planning, always preparing, always three steps ahead.
"It won't be the same," he continues. "You'll have security with you at all times. You won't be able to socialize freely with other students. Your life will never be normal again." He pauses. "But you can still be a doctor. If that's what you want."
I sit with that for a moment. A different path. Not the one I planned, but a path nonetheless.
"Why does it matter to you?" I ask. "Whether I become a doctor?"
"Because it matters to you." He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle. "Because you deserve to have something that's yours. Something this world didn't take from you."
The tears threaten to return. I blink them back.
"Misha..."
"There's something else." His voice has changed—lower, rougher, like the words are being dragged from somewhere deep. "Something I should have said before now."
I wait, my heart suddenly pounding.
"I've spent seventeen years building walls," he says. "Convincing myself that I didn't need anyone. That caring for someone was weakness. That I was better off alone." He pauses, his jaw tightening. "You proved me wrong. You broke through every barrier I built. Saw through every mask I wore."
His hand finds mine, his fingers intertwining with my own.
"I love you, Bianca."
The words hit me like a physical blow. I've imagined hearing them, dreamed of it in moments of weakness, but the reality is something else entirely. The reality is his face, stripped of its usual armor. The reality is his hand, gripping mine like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"I've loved you for a long time," I say. "Even when I hated you. Even when I thought you were the enemy. Some part of me knew, even then, that you were more than what you seemed."
"I'm not a good man, Bianca."
"No. But you're the man I want." I reach up and touch his face, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You're the man I choose."
He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch.
"Wait here," he says suddenly.
Before I can respond, he's on his feet, striding out of the greenhouse. I sit in the debris, confused, my heart still racing from his declaration.
He returns five minutes later, something small clutched in his hand.
"This ring belonged to my mother," he says, kneeling in front of me. "My father gave it to her when I was a boy. She wore it every day until the day she died."
I press my hands to my mouth, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"I never thought I would give it to anyone. Never thought I would find someone worthy of what it represents." He opens his hand, revealing a diamond ring that catches the fading light. "I was wrong."
"Misha..."
"Bianca Benedetti." He takes a breath. "I can't promise you safety. I can't promise you an easy life. I can only promise that I will love you with everything I have, protect you with everything I am, and spend the rest of my days trying to be the man you deserve."
He looks up at me, this man who has killed for me, bled for me, rebuilt his entire life around me.
"Will you marry me?"
The word comes out before I can even think.
"Yes."
He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly—as if it was always meant to be there.
"Yes," I say again, laughing and crying at the same time. "Yes, of course, yes."
He pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his chest, his face buried in my hair. I can feel him shaking—this man who never shows weakness, trembling in my arms like a leaf.
"I love you," I whisper against his neck.
"I love you too." His voice is rough, broken. "God, Bianca. I love you so much."
We stay there, kneeling in the dirt and the debris, holding each other as the evening light fades around us. The greenhouse is still destroyed. The world is still dangerous. Nothing has been solved.
But everything has changed.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes are suspiciously bright.
"We should go inside," he says. "It's getting cold."
"In a minute."
I pull his face down to mine and kiss him.
It starts gentle—soft, tender, a seal on the promises we've just made. But then his hand slides into my hair, angling my head, and the kiss deepens. Becomes something else. Something hungry and desperate and full of everything we've been holding back.
He groans against my mouth, and I feel it everywhere—a vibration that runs through my entire body, awakening nerve endings I'd almost forgotten existed. His other hand finds my waist, pulling me closer, and I go willingly, pressing myself against him.
"Bianca," he murmurs against my lips. "We should—"
"Take me upstairs."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark with want.
"Are you sure?"
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He stands in one fluid motion, pulling me up with him. Then his arms are around me, lifting me off my feet, and he's carrying me out of the greenhouse, across the darkening grounds, into the house that has become our home.
The ring glitters on my finger.
His heart pounds against my cheek.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that whatever comes next—we'll face it together.