Chapter 24 Belle
BELLE
Ishatter in the bathroom like cheap glass—ugly, loud, complete. Tears carve hot tracks down my cheeks, my chest blotchy with shame, nose running like a broken faucet. The kind of crying that steals your breath and leaves you hollow.
I slide down the cold tile wall until I'm crumpled on the floor, remembering the exact moment Luca's face cracked open when he saw that pregnancy test. Like I'd reached into his chest and twisted his heart until it bled.
He looked like I'd taken his heart and put it through a meat grinder.
"You're such a colossal idiot, Belle," I whisper, swiping at my tears with the back of my hand.
I had a plan. I was going to tell him when the time felt right, but I waited too long. Instead, I let him find out by knocking over a pee stick.
Real classy.
I've royally screwed up. Luca's the father, for God's sake. I don't even want to imagine how bad he must be hurting right now. Somewhere at the back of my head, fear leaks through. What if I caused irreparable damage? One we can't come back from?
"I'm sorry, little one," I cry, touching my stomach. "Mommy really made a mess of things."
Just then, somewhere in the house, hell breaks loose. Doors slam, boots thud, radios crackle. Voices sharpen. "Lock it down." "South wing secure." "No one in or out." It sounds like a movie, except it's my life and I'm sitting here with mascara running down my cheeks.
Something's happening—something bigger than my personal drama. I stand, swipe cold water over my face and pad back to my bedroom, wanting to know what's happening.
The bedroom door slams open. I startle and look to see it's one of Luca's men.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"The house is on lockdown. Stay in your room."
Then he's gone, closing the door behind him. Something tells me this lockdown's not by chance. Just an hour ago, Luca was livid, telling me he has to protect another person now. Our baby.
This lockdown's here to stay, because Luca knows I'm pregnant and I didn't give him time to soften the edges of the news.
Great. Just great.
Funny how life circles back. When I first came here, I was Luca's payment, my father's debt wiped clean with me as collateral. I hated every second of being trapped by him. Now I want to stay, and that's what's causing all the trouble.
My door opens again without a knock. Luca fills the frame, all hard edges and barely contained fury. His hair's damp with sweat, his knuckles raw. He's been hitting something, or someone.
"You stay in this room," he orders. "Don't leave. Don't open the door. Not for anyone except me or Sofia."
I open my mouth to argue with him to calm down, but the look in his eyes stops me cold. This isn't angry Luca. This is scared Luca.
"What's happening?" I try again.
"I need to know you're safe."
"Because of the baby?" The question escapes before I can cage it.
His eyes go storm-dark, and when he speaks, his voice is raw as an open wound. "Because of you, Belle. Not the baby. You."
Something fractures in my chest, not breaking, but opening. Like a flower forced to bloom in winter. He's not seeing me as an incubator for his heir. He's seeing me as the woman who could destroy him just by walking away.
"I'll stay put," I promise.
He nods once, already turning to leave.
"Luca—"
"Not now, Belle." His voice is strained. "We'll talk about... that... when this is over."
Our baby. Reduced to "that" because I was too scared to tell him sooner.
He leaves before I can say anything else, the door slamming behind him. I press my forehead against it.
"I'm sorry," I whisper to the empty air.
Minutes stretch into an hour. The chaos outside settles into an eerie vigilance. I pace the room, chewing my nails down to nothing, jumping at every sound. My phone has no service—they must have activated some kind of signal blocker.
A soft knock breaks the silence. I freeze, remembering Luca's order.
"Belle? It's me." Sofia's small voice filters through.
I open the door just enough to see her little face peering up at me. She slips inside, Meatball trailing behind like her orange shadow.
"Daddy said I could stay with you or Nanny." She climbs onto my bed. "Everyone's being weird."
I sit beside her, smoothing her hair. "Yeah, grown-ups get like that sometimes."
She studies my face with those too-wise eyes. "You've been crying."
"Just a little."
"Is Daddy mad at you?" She frowns. "He looked really mad when he told me to come here."
I don't say a word, my throat all tied up in choked pain.
"Daddy gets mean when he's scared," she tells me.
Oh, knife meet heart. The sweet angel's defending her dad, and I won't be the one to let her think anything less of that man.
"Me too," I admit in a whisper. "I get… stupid when I'm scared."
She considers this. "Do you need Bruno?" she asks, solemn, like offering me her best soldier.
"I think Bruno's on border patrol." I kiss the top of her head. "But thank you."
She nods, satisfied, and wriggles down. "I'm going to my room now. Nanny has snacks in her bag. Do you want some?"
"Good plan. No, I'm not hungry."
She nods and pauses at the door. "Don't be scared," she whispers. "We have Daddy."
And then she's gone, and I am in a room that feels like a safe and a cage at the same time.
Don't be scared. We have Daddy.
Right. Cool. Except Daddy can't be everywhere at once, and I am not a potted plant.
Stop waiting to be saved, Belle.
I stand. My heartbeat goes stubborn. Screw sitting pretty. I'm the idiot who lit the match; the least I can do is go find the gasoline.
I crack the door and listen. The hall's a pulse of motion—two guards pass, and their voices recede into the distance. I slip out when the window opens, barefoot, quiet, a ghost.
I duck into alcoves, slide along walls, and make it to the surveillance room undetected.
Inside, screens line the walls, showing every angle of the estate. The chair still holds the imprint of whoever was sitting here before the lockdown. Looks like everyone got called away for more important duties than babysitting cameras.
Lucky me.
I slide into the seat, watching the monitors that line the wall in grids: drive, gate, hall, garden, kitchen, Luca's office. Timestamped and all dated.
What am I even looking for? Something. Anything. A clue to why this house is suddenly a fortress and where the threat might be.
I pull up the archives, focusing on the night of the break-in.
Hell yeah, Belle. That's the perfect place to start.
Camera by camera, I track movements. Guards at posts. Shadows in gardens. Nothing unusual until—wait.
Luca's office. Nine forty-seven p.m. Three hours before the attack.
Declan slips in, glancing over his shoulder. He moves to Luca's bar and pulls out a bottle of scotch. He then pulls something from his pocket.
A small vial, that bastard.
My blood turns to ice as I watch him unscrew the bottle cap, tip the vial, and pour whatever sinful shit that is into Luca's scotch.
"Holy shit," I breathe.
Luca's brother tried to poison him.