Arlo
It’s been twenty-four hours.
To be exact, twenty-four hours, thirty-eight minutes, and forty-four seconds.
She’s in a coma.
A fucking coma.
The doctors said she sustained blunt force trauma to the head, multiple fractures, and internal bleeding.
They operated on her abdomen for over four hours. The surgery was successful, or so they claim, but her condition is still critical.
She’s stable enough to hold on, that’s what they keep saying. But she’s not awake. Her chest rises with every assisted breath, and yet it doesn’t feel like she’s really here.
Now she’s lying in a private room I had cleared for her, an entire wing, actually. No other patients, or noise except the machines.
Octavia’s curled up in a chair beside the bed, a crumpled tissue in her hand. She’s been crying for hours. Every few minutes, there’s another quiet sniffle, and every damn time, my jaw tightens.
I get it. She’s her sister. She’s terrified.
But the sound is driving me insane.
I’m barely holding it together as it is, and every sob, every shaky breath, reminds me that I can’t fix this.
The room feels crowded, too many bodies, too much noise for a place that should be silent.
Milo’s planted near Octavia like some guard dog. He hasn’t moved since she got here seventeen hours ago. Every time she shifts, his eyes follow. It’s pathetic, and unsettling.
Adelaide’s in the corner, arms crossed, her face set in that usual calm she hides behind.
But even she can’t keep it flawless tonight, every so often, the mask slips, and I catch the worry flicker through her eyes.
Isaak stands beside her, watching her closely, like he’s waiting for a crack to widen.
Piper’s here too, eyes red and swollen. Hunter’s behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder, steadying her.
And Eleanor, she’s here. Back from wherever she disappeared to. She’s just standing there, silent, staring at nothing, like her mind’s somewhere else entirely.
Which means Ido’s here too.
Cold as ever. Not a hint of emotion. Just that blank, detached stare that makes you wonder if he’s even capable of feeling anything at all. But his eyes keep drifting to Eleanor, and for the first time since I’ve known him, there’s something there I can’t name. Something almost human.
I’m sitting in the chair closest to Ophelia’s bed. Every time one of the monitors beeps, I freeze. Every pause feels like the end of my world.
Her father still hasn’t shown up.
Apparently, there’s always something more important than his daughter lying in a coma.
Of course Luigi Bellanti knows she’s here. He’ll show up eventually, but only for the sake of appearances, not for her.
In the months I was with Ophelia, I started to notice the pattern, the way his tone softened whenever he spoke of Octavia, and how he spoke of Ophelia like she was a burden instead of his own blood. For some fucked up reason, he’s always seemed to prefer the other sister.
Octavia doesn’t see it. Maybe she refuses to. Even now she keeps defending him, saying he’s caught up with some emergency, that he’s keeping in touch, that he’ll be here any minute.
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. He should already be here, by her side, making sure she’s safe, that the doctors are doing everything they can. That she’s alive.
I don’t notice anyone leaving the room until a cup of coffee appears in front of me. Isaak’s holding it, Hunter beside him with a tray and a paper bag that probably has food in it.
I haven’t eaten since the accident. They keep bringing me coffee, but it all goes cold. I can’t make myself drink it. I don’t even think I’ve blinked in the last hour.
Time stops meaning anything. Doctors and nurses drift in and out, murmuring the same updates, stable, critical, stable again. None of it changes the fact that she’s still not awake.
Suddenly, I hear voices in the corridor. A moment later, the door swings open.
Luigi Bellanti.
The bastard can’t even enter a room quietly.
He fills the doorway, wearing an immaculate suit, polished shoes. His expression, however, is pure fury.
His gaze sweeps the room, pausing briefly when he sees Milo beside Octavia. His jaw tightens, but he lets it pass.
Unsurprisingly.
Octavia’s allowed her freedoms, she can marry whoever she desires, or at least he’ll pretend that’s the case.
But when his eyes land on me, on my hand wrapped around Ophelia’s, his entire body goes rigid.
For her, the rules are different. She’s meant for the man he chose, the one old enough to be his contemporary.
I know exactly what that look on his face means.
Milo, never able to keep quiet, lets out a low, amused sound. “This should be entertaining,” he mutters.
I don’t look away from Luigi. I hold his stare.
He takes one step into the room, stopping just short of where I sit.
“You will leave,” he says. “Immediately, this hospital, this country, or I will ensure you are forced to do so.”
There’s a revolting sort of assurance about him, old power and too many men too frightened to tell him no. He’s delusional enough to believe he still holds the same authority he has in Florence.
I allow the faintest curve of a smile. “You believe you can issue commands in my hospital?”
He steps closer, shoulders straightening, his tailored jacket shifting just enough to expose the edge of a holstered gun. A pitiful attempt at intimidation.
I stand. My gaze flickers once more to Ophelia, it physically hurts to turn from her, but I do.
For now.
When I pass him, I see the smirk falter in his throat. He mistakes my silence for surrender. He’ll learn otherwise.
“Step outside with me,” I say, my tone even.
He scoffs. “Who the hell do you think you are, giving me orders?”
“I assure you,” I reply, “you’ll prefer to hear this in the corridor, privately.”
He studies me, jaw clenched, then finally jerks his chin toward the door. I close it behind us. Isaak gives me a questioning look, but I shake my head.
I’ve got this.
I turn back to Luigi. “I’ll be brief.” My voice is calm.
“This isn’t your territory, so your orders mean nothing here.
You’re going to walk out of this hospital, leave Ophelia alone, and let her heal in peace.
We both know you couldn’t care less for her wellbeing.
Before you depart, you will annul that arrangement you struck to marry her off to that odious old man.
In its place you will draw up a new contract, one that hands her to me. ”
He laughs, deep and ugly, the sound travelling down the corridor.
I wait.
“And if I refuse?” he finally spits.
I incline my head. “Then my courtesy ends. Then I am no longer polite. Then we go to war.”
He laughs again, louder this time, pulling the gun from his holster and pointing it straight at my head. “Give me one good reason not to blow your brains out right now.”
Before I can reply, a voice behind me cleaves the air.
“You did not just aim a gun at my son, Bellanti. Even you cannot be that foolish.”
Luigi’s gaze slides past me. For a moment his composure falters, then he tucks it away and regains the mask of control.
He parts his lips to speak, but I interrupt him before a single word can leave.
“I want nothing further to do with you,” I say. “You will give me your daughter’s hand. Once that is done, our paths part and they do not cross again. Refuse, and I will expose everything you have spent years concealing.”
He snorts. “And what could you possibly have on me, boy?”
I smirk. “More than you’d like. Surprisingly, then again, perhaps not, turns out I picked up a few hacking tricks, and I’m rather good at them. You’d be astonished what you can find when you know where to look and how to remain invisible while doing it.”
His jaw tightens, but I go on. “I’ve been collecting for over a year. Every deal. Every shipment. Including the one you stole from the Bratva and pinned on the cartel.”
The look on his face is almost comical. “Yes. I have proof. If I speak, Isaak Markev, who is standing just beyond that door, will be more than willing to collect what’s his.
You will not have only the Bratva after you, there will be the cartel, Dante Salvatore, hell, half the world, hunting you.
You won’t last a week, you’ll vanish off the map, and we both know it. ”
I step forward. “This is how it plays out. You cancel the marriage contract and sign a new one. Ophelia becomes mine. Hesitate for a second and you’re dead.”
He grits his teeth so hard I can hear it. A vein throbs at his temple. For a second, I think he might actually have a stroke. But he knows I’ve got him.
He jerks his head toward his second in command, then fixes his gaze on me. “Give me thirty minutes,” he says.
“No more than that,” I reply. “Not a second over.”
He turns and stalks down the corridor, his men following in his wake.
I turn to face my father. His expression is unreadable at first, then it softens in a way I barely recognise… pride.
“I came to help,” he says quietly. “But it seems you didn’t need me. I’m proud of you, son.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.
He glances toward the door. “How is she?”
“Critical,” I answer. “But stable.”
He exhales. “Can I see the woman who made you buy an entire hospital, a perfume company, and pour your inheritance into building Vass Lab Grown Gems?”
I huff out something close to a laugh. “Sure. You can meet your future daughter in law.” I pause, looking him straight in the eye. “Because, dad, I’m marrying that girl.”
He smiles faintly, clapping a hand against my back. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a Vass.”
When I go back into the room, my eyes find her immediately.
I take a seat beside her bed and wait.
She’ll wake up. She has to. We’ll get through this.
I’ve made mistakes—unforgivable ones—but I’ll make it right. I’ll spend the rest of my life doing it if I have to. Because she’s mine. And I’m not letting her go.
Within the hour, the papers are signed.
Ophelia Belanti is officially my fiancée.
Tomorrow, I’ll have my people start on her ring, and figure out how to undo all the damage I’ve done to the woman I love.