Chapter 31 Roman
ROMAN
For the last eighteen hours, I’ve paced the hallway outside our bedroom waiting for Isabella to wake up.
Every second has felt like an eternity.
My mind keeps replaying finding her unconscious, pale as death. I've already lost one wife… No. I can’t go there.
The door finally opens. I stop mid-stride as the doctor steps out, his face unreadable.
"How is she?" I demand, making him flinch and step back.
"Mrs. Ginetti will be fine. She'll need rest, fluids, and time to recover from the trauma."
"Good. That's good." Relief washes through me, but something in his expression makes my gut tighten. "What aren't you telling me?"
He hesitates. "She was concerned about the baby. I've reassured her that there are no immediate signs of complications, but we'll need specialized equipment for a proper examination."
Baby?
The hallway seems to tilt beneath my feet.
Isabella pregnant? With my child?
The news is out of left field.
Unexpected, although I don’t know why.
I hadn’t used protection with her. Not once.
“When can you get the proper testing?”
"She’s not showing any signs of a problem, so I'll arrange for an obstetrician to see her tomorrow. But like I said, in the meantime, she needs to rest."
I nod, although he'd better not be telling me I can’t see her. I have to see her. Unless…
“Does she want to see me?” God, is it possible she blames me for all this, for not protecting her?
My thoughts flash back to our conversation, when I told her I’d help her get out of this life, whatever it took. I'd meant it then.
Our arrangement was business, a solution to keep her alive. No strings attached. That was the deal.
But everything is different now. And it’s not just that there’s a child. She’s mine, dammit. More than that, I’m hers. She has my heart, my soul, just as surely as Emilia had them.
As I move to enter the room, it occurs to me that she hadn’t said a word about the pregnancy.
Had she planned not to tell me?
Was she going to leave with my baby and never say a word?
I press my palms against my eyes, forcing myself to breathe through the anger that wants to flame.
Slowly, understanding seeps through the anger. Of course she wouldn't tell me.
In her eyes, I'm a monster who kills by profession. The man who married her only out of duty. Whose job it was to keep her from harming La Corona.
The memory of her words floats back to me. "I'll choose you, Roman, but it's not because I trust you. It's because I have no choice if I want to live."
Every choice has been taken from her by her father, by La Corona, by me. Why would she believe this baby would change anything? That I wouldn't just use it as another chain to bind her?
Sympathy for her grows. I think of the fear she must feel trapped in a marriage she didn't choose, carrying a child she didn't plan, belonging to a man she doesn't fully trust.
I take a deep breath, wiping my hands on my pants one more time. They're clean now, but I still feel Salvatore's blood on them.
How many men have I killed in my lifetime?
Too many to count.
Yet nothing has ever terrified me more than walking through this door to face my wife.
My wife. The mother of my child.
I push the bedroom door open. Isabella is propped against the pillows, her face pale but her eyes alert. Those eyes. They track my every movement as I enter, wary and watchful.
"How are you feeling?" My voice comes out rough, like I've been gargling gravel.
"I'm alive." She attempts a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you for that."
God, does she think I did it only out of duty? I move closer, stopping at the foot of the bed. "You don't need to thank me. Not for that. Not ever."
Her hands rest protectively over her stomach, a gesture so subtle she probably doesn't realize she's doing it. But I notice. How could I not?
"Isabella…" I start, then falter. What am I supposed to say? Congratulations? I'm sorry? Why didn't you tell me?
She meets my gaze, chin lifting slightly. Even battered and exhausted, there's a quiet strength in her that takes my breath away. She's been through hell and survived.
Because of me, in spite of me.
I approach the bed slowly, like she's a wounded animal that might bolt if I move too quickly. My heart hammers against my ribs.
This isn't me. I don't hesitate. I don't falter.
Yet here I am, terrified of saying the wrong thing.
"Isabella." I sit carefully on the edge of the mattress, keeping space between us. "I need you to understand something."
She watches me, those dark eyes giving nothing away.
"Everything I've done since the moment Marco ordered this marriage has been to protect you. Even when I thought you were betraying me, even when I was furious, I was trying to keep you safe."
Her gaze flickers with doubt. "Because it's your job."
"No." I reach for her hand, surprised when she doesn't pull away. "Not just that. Not anymore." I take a deep breath, feeling more exposed than I've ever been in my life. More vulnerable than facing down a gun.
"I've spent years convinced I'd never feel this way again. After Emilia died, I shut that part of myself away. I had Angelica to raise, the family to protect. There was no room for anything else."
My thumb traces circles on her palm. "Then you came into our lives, and something happened that I never expected. I fell in love with you, Isabella."
Her eyes widen, lips parting in surprise. “But I’m not like her.”
“No.” I laugh softly then, thinking of the contrasts between my wives. “No, you’re not like her. When I fell for Emilia, it was like sliding into a lazy river. It was easy, smooth, and calm.”
She frowns like I’m insulting her.
“You.” I look into her eyes, wanting her to see into mine. “You caught me by surprise and challenged me. It’s work being with you, but that’s good, Isabella. Love should require effort. How else will you know that I’m head over heels if I just coast through this relationship?”
She starts to speak, but I need to finish.
"I know you don't love me back. How could you?
I'm the monster who threatened you, who scared you, who represents everything you want to escape.
" I hate having to remind her of this, but it’s necessary.
"I know you don't trust me, may never trust me. But I needed you to know how I feel. How you’ve changed everything… for the better.”
I feel stripped bare, my soul exposed. This woman who carries my child looks at me like I'm speaking a language she doesn't understand.
"I love you," I repeat, just to make sure she understands what I’m saying.
I watch Isabella's face, her shock at my confession evident in those wide, dark eyes. Before she can respond, before she can reject what I've just laid bare, I hold up my hand.
"You don't need to say anything." The last thing I want to hear is her telling me she doesn’t love me back. "I know what you want. What you've always wanted. Freedom. A life away from all this." I gesture vaguely at the world beyond our bedroom walls, the world of La Corona.
"I meant what I said before. When this is over, when you're fully recovered, I'll help you leave. I'll make arrangements, set you up somewhere safe. Somewhere no one from this life can find you."
Her eyes fill with tears, but I can't tell if they're from relief or something else. It doesn't matter. I've made my promise, and I'll keep it.
"But there's one thing that's changed." I let my gaze drop to where her hands still rest protectively over her stomach, ready to fight to be a father.
“Roman.” She presses her fingers over my mouth. “It’s my turn.”
“But—”
She pinches my lips together. “My turn. I don’t want to go. I don’t want a life away from you and Angelica.”
I like these words. I’m a little worried that I'm dreaming them.
“And our baby.”
My breath hitches. She’s telling me about the child. She’s not hiding it.
“I just…” She looks down. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep me or the baby out of duty.”
“Duty?” I nearly choke on the word. “Have you been listening to me?”
She sniffles, and I feel bad for barking at her.
“I’m sorry. I just… I don’t want you out of duty and I don’t want you to give up your dreams out of duty, either. I won't stop you from going. But I won't abandon my child, either. I can't."
“Roman, do you love me?”
“Yes! How many times do I have to say it?”
She smiles, and it melts the cold fear in my heart. “Every day. And I’ll tell you every day too. I love you.”
“Thank fuck.” Carefully, I take her in my arms and settle her in bed so she can rest. "I've got you,” I murmur into her hair. "I've always had you, Isabella."
The bedroom door flies open and Angelica bursts in, a whirlwind of energy. "Daddy! Isabella!" Her dark curls bounce wildly around her face as she launches herself onto the bed.
She scrambles between us. "Did you get the bad men, Daddy? Did you make them sorry?"
I shift, making room for her in our embrace. "Yes, Angel. The bad men can't hurt anyone anymore."
Angelica turns to Isabella. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too, sweetie,” Isabella says, her gaze lifting from Angelica to me.
In those eyes I finally see everything I need.
Trust. Love. A family.