Chapter 28 - Belle
BELLE
Consciousness returns in fragments—the taste of copper in my mouth, the antiseptic burn in my nostrils, the steady beep of machines I can't see.
The ceiling above me tilts like I'm on a ship in rough seas.
Pain radiates from my shoulder in waves, each pulse a reminder that I'm alive when I probably shouldn't be.
What the hell happened? Where am I? And why does everything hurt?
My body's heavy. My arms feel like they've been stitched to the mattress.
I try to move and fire shoots up my left side, sharp enough to drag a broken gasp out of me.
"Miss Belle! You're awake. Please, don't move." A nurse appears at my bedside, gently pressing me back against the pillows.
She touches my forehead with cool fingers, then darts away, calling for something I don't catch.
"What—" My voice is sandpaper. I try again. "What happened?"
Her hands come back, pressing at my shoulder, stopping me when I try to sit. "You were shot," she says, steady, as if saying it gently will soften the truth. "The bullet only grazed your shoulder. You lost some blood. But you are alive."
Shot.
The word detonates inside me. and the memories flood back in flashes—Declan's cold eyes, Sofia's tears, Luca bursting through the door, the chair tipping, the deafening crack of—
Oh God.
The baby.
My hands fly to my stomach, pressing, searching, begging for some sign of life.
The monitors explode into chaos as my heart rate spikes, but I don't care.
I can't feel anything. No flutter, no movement, nothing.
"No, no, no—" The word tears from my throat as panic floods my system.
Hot tears stream down my face. "Please, God, not the baby—"
My hands won't stop moving, searching, begging.
"The baby—please—"
"You're okay." The nurse covers my hands with hers, stilling them. "The baby is okay. We did an ultrasound while you were sedated, just to be certain."
My chest caves in.
The breath I've been fighting for all this time finally breaks free, rushing out of me in one long, shuddering exhale.
I close my eyes and let it flood me, that pure relief.
The baby's alive.
When I finally catch my breath, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand, class thrown out of the window. "What time is it? How long was I out?"
"Almost six hours. It's nearly four a.m." She adjusts something in my IV line. "The doctor gave you something for the pain and to help you rest."
"Where's Luca?" I ask in panic. "And Sofia? Is she okay?"
The nurse busies herself with my bandages. "The little girl is with her nanny. She was very upset, but she wasn't hurt."
Thank God for small mercies. But she didn't answer my first question.
"And Luca?"
She hesitates just a beat too long. "Mr. Moretti is... dealing with some matters."
Fuck. Something happened, and she's not telling me. So fucking great for my nerves… not.
A maid enters, carrying fresh linens. She glances at me, then quickly looks away.
"What happened after I was shot?" I press, looking between them. "Where's Declan? Did they arrest him?"
The room goes quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that screams bad news.
The nurse finds something fascinating to check on the other side of the room.
"He's dead."
The maid's voice is flat, matter-of-fact. She doesn't look up from folding a pillowcase.
"Dead?" I repeat stupidly.
She nods and looks over at me. "Mr. Moretti killed him with his bare hands." She makes a strangling gesture that turns my stomach.
"Broke his neck right there."
The nurse shoots her a warning look, but the damage is done.
I see it all too clearly—Luca's hands around his brother's throat, squeezing, twisting, the crack of bone.
I think of Declan, Luca's brother.
Luca killed his own blood for me, for his family.
What hell he's been through… all because of his love for us.
I cradle my stomach, and the sob that tears out of me surprises even me.
It's primal, wounded. I press my fist against my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it's too late. I'm breaking apart.
My eyes roam the room. "Where am I?" Does Luca's house have a secret hospital ward? This doesn't look like an actual hospital.
I feel hysteria creeping in. I'm disoriented. Distraught.
"I need to see him," I cry as I try to step out of bed. "I need to talk to Luca."
"Miss Belle, please!" The nurse rushes back, stopping me with firm hands. "You've lost blood. You need to rest."
"What I need is to see Luca," I insist, my voice cracking. "Now."
The maid slips out, probably eager to escape the crazy lady. The nurse sighs.
"Miss Belle, Mr. Moretti gave strict instructions that you were to rest. He'll come when he can."
"Call him," I demand. "Please. He'd want to know I'm awake."
She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I can't disturb him right now."
"Fine. Then get me a phone."
"Miss—"
"A phone," I repeat, harder this time. "Or I swear to God I will rip this IV out and go find him myself."
The nurse shakes her head.
"No," I hiss, fighting to sit up despite the tearing pain in my shoulder.
Blood spots the sheets again, fresh. "I want him right now!"
"Please, not yet." The nurse tries to push me down, but I shake her off, sobbing so hard my whole body shakes. "It's better if you wait—"
"Don't tell me to wait!" My voice fractures into something jagged and wild. "I need him—I need—"
The door slams open, and there's Luca in the doorway, looking like a shadow ripped out of hell.
His clothes are torn, knuckles bloodied, face bruised like he's taken a beating from the devil himself.
His eyes, I can barely see them from how swollen they are.
He looks like the war he just survived.
And the moment his eyes find me, I break.
He stumbles forward, not caring that he's dripping blood across the floor.
Not caring about the nurse calling out his name. His gaze never leaves mine.
"Belle," he breathes, like my name is a prayer.
Then he's beside me, battle-worn hands framing my face like I'm made of spun glass.
His thumbs chase tears I didn't know were falling.
"They wouldn't let me see you," I sob against his palm. "I thought you were dead. I thought—"
"I'm here." His voice cracks like he's the one who almost died. "I'm right here, and I'm never leaving you again."
The promise hangs between us, fragile as everything we almost lost.
"I'm sorry. I had to clean up and make arrangements."
The weight of those words hangs between us. Arrangements. For his brother's body. Oh God.
"You killed him," I whisper.
His jaw tightens. "Yes."
Just that. No explanation, no justification. He doesn't need to give one. We both know what Declan was going to do.
"Are you okay?" I reach up to touch his bruised face, wincing as the movement pulls at my stitches.
He catches my hand, presses it to his cheek. "Don't worry about me."
"Luca—"
"When that shot went off," he cuts me off, his voice breaking, "and I saw you fall... I thought I lost you."
He looks utterly destroyed, like a man who's seen hell and walked back out.
"You did," I whisper, squeezing his hand. "But I came back."