Chapter Thirty-One
Isabella
The first few weeks after the rescue passed in fragments.
Allegra kept detailed medical notes, tracking my recovery. Temperature readings every four hours. Fluid intake measurements. Notes about which foods I could keep down and which brought back memories of drugged water and stale bread.
I existed in a cloud of half-sleep and medication, surfacing occasionally to find Colton keeping watch. Sometimes he read legal briefs, other times he just watched me breathe. Always there. Always steady.
The nightmares came without warning. Sometimes I was back in the container, metal walls pressing closer. Sometimes I was in the cells, listening to other women scream. Sometimes I was on an auction block, naked and afraid while men bid on my life.
Colton learned my triggers quickly. No sudden movements. No unexpected touches. No darkness. The villa’s generator hummed constantly, keeping every room lit even at night. When the power flickered once during a storm, he had candles lit before I could start panicking.
“You’re safe,” he would murmur when I thrashed awake, not touching until I gave permission. “You’re in Tuscany. At the villa. It’s Tuesday. You’re safe.”
The specifics helped—date, time, location. Anchors in reality when memories threatened to drown me.
But there were other fears I couldn’t voice yet.
The nausea that came in waves, worse in the mornings. The fact that I hadn’t had a period since being taken. The growing terror about what might have happened during those drugged hours I couldn’t remember.
I kept track secretly, counting days between my last cycle and my capture. Between capture and rescue. Between now and then. The numbers danced in my head like shipping manifests, adding up to possibilities I wasn’t ready to face.
Allegra noticed, of course. She was far too observant to miss the signs. But she said nothing, just left crackers by my bed and ginger tea in the mornings. Understanding in her eyes when I couldn’t finish meals.
“When you’re ready to talk,” she said one morning, checking my healing wounds with gentle hands. “I’m here.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. My injuries were healing, the infected sores from the restraints slowly closing, the bruises fading from purple to yellow.
But some wounds weren’t visible. Some fears couldn’t be charted in medical notes.
Colton brought me art books, beautiful leather-bound editions that Steele sent over from his own personal library in France.
Safe art. Landscapes and still lifes. Nothing that required authentication or provenance checking. Nothing that might trigger memories.
“My father had this edition,” I said once, running my fingers over gilded pages. “Before...”
“Before they killed him?” Colton’s voice was gentle but didn’t shy from truth.
“Yes.” I traced a Monet reproduction, remembering how Father’s hands had looked holding this same volume. “He knew too much. Asked too many questions.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.” My hand drifted to my stomach before I could stop it. Another secret. Another fear. “But he died alone. Thinking he’d failed.”
Colton moved closer, slow in his approach. When I nodded permission, he sat beside me on the bed. “You’re not alone.”
“No.” I leaned into his warmth slightly. Progress. “But I’m afraid.”
“Of what?”
Everything , I wanted to say. Of memories. Of nightmares. Of what they might have done to me in those blank hours. Of what might be growing inside me now.
Instead I just pressed closer, letting him wrap an arm around me. Another victory. Another step towards healing.
“We should train,” I said after a while, needing to change the subject. “I need to be stronger.”
“When you’re ready.” His thumb traced gentle circles on my shoulder. “Stryker is staying here in Italy, and he’s ready whenever you want to start.”
The thought of learning to fight made something unclench in my chest. No more helplessness. No more playing the victim.
But first I needed to know. Needed to be sure about what was happening to my body. Needed to face the terror growing alongside the nausea each morning.
“One more week,” I whispered, more to myself than him. “One more week of healing. Then we start.”
“Whatever you need.” He pressed a kiss to my hair—another boundary crossed, another trust earned. “Whatever it takes.”
I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar cologne. Letting myself feel safe, if only for this moment.
One more week. One more week of recovery. One more week before I had to face what I suspected was growing inside me.
“Again.”
Stryker’s voice carried the same stiffness I’d noticed in my captors. But where their commands had meant pain and submission, his meant strength. Power. Control.
I moved through the sequence again, bare feet silent on training mats. Block. Strike. Pivot. My body protested—still too weak, still healing—but I pushed through. The morning sickness I’d been hiding was worse today, but I refused to let it show.
“Better.” He circled slowly, watching my form. “But your guard drops when you transition. An opponent would exploit that.”
“Can you teach me?”
He demonstrated in slow motion, pointing out where I left myself vulnerable. Everything about him was practiced, each movement calculated, each lesson building on the last. Like Colton, he understood the value of routine. But he taught me how to break it. How to exploit it. How to turn an enemy’s strength against them.
“They’ll expect you to be weak,” he said, resetting his stance. “To follow rules. To be a victim.”
The word hit like a physical blow, but I kept moving. No more victim mentality.
“Their mistake.” I completed the sequence, ending in a defensive stance. Sweat had soaked through my training clothes, and my hands shook slightly. But I stayed upright through sheer will.
“Yes.” Something like approval crossed his features. “Their mistake.”
A movement caught my eye—Colton in the doorway, watching. He’d been there a while, I realized. Something in his expression made my heart race, and not just from exertion.
“That’s enough for today,” Stryker said, noting my distraction. “Rest. Recover. We go harder tomorrow.”
I nodded, grateful he couldn’t see how my stomach churned. The morning sickness was getting harder to hide, especially during training. But I wasn’t ready to face what it meant. Not yet.
“You’re pushing too hard,” Colton said as I gathered my water bottle. His voice carried that mix of pride and concern I was learning to recognize. “You need to rest.”
“I need to be stronger.” I took a long drink, buying time as another wave of nausea hit. “Like you did.”
His eyes softened. “That was different. I had time. Choice.”
“And I don’t?” My voice hardened like granite. “Because I’m broken? Because I’m not perfect anymore?”
“Because you’re still healing.” He moved closer, giving me space to retreat if needed. When I didn’t, he touched my arm gently. “Because you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
If only he knew what I was trying to prove. What I was trying to deny with every punishing training session.
“I prove it to myself,” I said instead. “Every day. Every hour.” My hand wanted to drift to my stomach but I forced it still. “Until I’m strong enough that no one can hurt me again.”
Understanding crossed his face. “Like I did after The Wolseley incident.”
I nodded, remembering how he’d told me about that night. Three drunk men cornering him outside the restaurant. How helpless he’d felt until the waiters came. How it had driven him to transform himself.
“But I had months,” he continued softly. “Time to build strength properly. Safely.”
Time I might not have , I thought but didn’t say. Not if what I suspected was true. Not if my body was already changing in ways I couldn’t control.
“I’ll rest,” I promised, needing to end this conversation before my nausea became obvious. “Just...need a shower first.”
He studied me for a moment longer, his concern evident in those gorgeous eyes of his. But he didn’t push, just squeezed my arm gently before letting me go. Small touches. Never assuming. Yet I wondered, were the touches out of guilt? Friendship? Or…something more?
I made it to the bathroom just in time, emptying my stomach as quietly as possible. The tile was cool against my forehead as I knelt there, trying to control my shaking.
“Not yet,” I whispered to my treacherous body. “Please. Not yet.”
A soft knock made me freeze. “Isabella?” Allegra’s voice. “I brought some tea.”
Of course she knew. She’d probably been watching, counting symptoms like she counted everything else.
“Come in.”
She entered with her usual quiet grace, setting a steaming cup beside me. Ginger tea, I noted. Good for nausea.
“The symptoms usually ease by twelve weeks,” she said carefully, sitting on the edge of the tub. “Though everyone’s different.”
I closed my eyes, not ready for this conversation. Not ready to face what we both knew.
“It might not be that,” I managed. “Stress. Recovery. Training.”
“True.” She didn’t push, just offered a cool cloth for my face. “But if it is...”
“I can’t.” My voice broke. “Not yet. Not until I’m stronger.”
“Honey.” So much understanding in that word. “You’re already strong. Strong enough to survive. Strong enough to fight back. Strong enough to face whatever comes next.”
I took the cloth she offered, pressing it against my burning eyes. “Colton—”
“Will support you. No matter what.” She touched my shoulder. “You know that.”
“Do I?” The words escaped before I could stop them. “After what they did to me? After what might have happened in those blank hours?”
“Yes.” No hesitation in her voice. “Because he loves you. All of you. Even the parts you think are broken.”
Fresh tears threatened to fall. “Does he? How can he? We hated each other before we started investigating…and…I’m ruined now.”
Allegra looked at me, eyes heavy with sadness. “You’re not ruined, Isabella. And Colton—I think he does love you. Even before you were taken, he’d said things to Cooper…” she trailed off, handing me another washcloth to wipe my face.
“When did you know? With Clara?”
“Six weeks.” Her smile was soft with memory. “I told Cooper during Christmas that year. He said I was glowing.”
“I’m not glowing.” I gestured to my sweaty training clothes, my trembling hands. “I’m falling apart.”
“No.” Her tone was stern, but loving. “You’re putting yourself back together. Different, maybe. Stronger, definitely. But not broken.”
The tea was perfect—just hot enough to sip, just sweet enough to settle my stomach. Of course it was. Allegra did everything with love in her heart.
“How long?” she asked after a while. “Until you need to know for sure?”
I counted days in my head. Between the tunnels and cells. Between capture and rescue. Between now and my last cycle.
“Soon,” I admitted. “A few more days and it will be obvious. One way or another.”
She nodded, understanding what I wasn’t saying. The fear. The uncertainty. The terror of not knowing whose child might be growing inside me.
“Whatever happens,” she said softly, “you’re not alone. Not anymore.”
We sat in comfortable silence until my stomach settled. Until I could stand without shaking. Until I felt almost human again.
“Rest today,” she said as I prepared to leave. “Real rest, not just pretending while you study combat videos.”
I managed a small smile. “Doctor’s orders?”
“My orders.” She kissed my cheek—the casual affection of family, a family I wished I could claim for my own. “The training will wait. Healing won’t.”
But some kinds of healing couldn’t wait , I thought as I made my way back to my room. Some changes were coming whether I was ready or not.
Colton was waiting, because of course he was. Always watching. Always protecting. Always trying to give me space while staying close enough to catch me if I fell.
“Better?” he asked as I curled into the window seat. The vineyard spread below us, peaceful in the afternoon sun.
“Getting there.” I let myself lean against him when he joined me, his solid warmth helping ground me in the present. “Sorry I worried you.”
“You’re allowed to worry me.” His arms came around me carefully, giving me time to pull away. When I didn’t, he relaxed slightly. “Just...let me help? Sometimes?”
I thought of Allegra’s words about support. About love. About facing things together.
“Soon,” I promised, both to him and myself. “Just...not yet.”
“Whenever you’re ready.” He pressed a kiss to my hair. “Whatever you need.”
What I needed was time. Time to be sure. Time to be stronger. Time to face the possibility growing inside me.
But time was running out. Soon I wouldn’t be able to hide the morning sickness. The fatigue. The changes in my body that were becoming harder to ignore.
Soon I’d have to tell him everything.