Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Bella
We'd been back at Declan’s cottage for just half an hour, and as Declan took his turn in the shower, I sat on the edge of his bed, staring at my phone.
I'd avoided this call for weeks. Too afraid. And too ashamed.
But Aunt Madonna deserved better than silence. She'd raised me after my parents had died. She'd loved me like her own daughter, and I'd vanished without a word, leaving her to wonder if I was dead in a ditch somewhere.
My thumb hovered over her contact. I pressed the button. It rang four times before she answered, thick with sleep and suspicion. “Pronto?”
“Zia Madonna.” My voice cracked. “It's me.”
Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath. “Bella?” Her voice pitched higher, disbelief and relief tangling together. “Mio Dio, where are you? Are you safe?”
“I'm safe. I'm—” Tears spilled over my lashes. “I'm so sorry. I should have called sooner. I should have explained—”
“Hush, hush, piccola.” Her tone softened, though steel remained underneath. “Where are you?”
“Australia.”
“Australia?” She let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Of course. Your mother's country.” I heard her moving, probably sitting up in bed. “Why did you run? The police came to the trattoria. They had so many questions. About you. About Vincenzo.”
My stomach twisted. “What did they say?”
“They told me about Vincenzo being stabbed in your kitchen.” Madonna's voice dropped lower. “And that you were gone.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “Zia, I can explain—”
“Were you there when it happened?” she asked carefully.
My mind raced. What does she know? What did they tell her?
“When what happened?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“The attack.” Madonna sighed heavily. “Vincenzo was stabbed by those Vitale family bastards. He nearly died.”
The room tilted.
The Vitale family?
I pressed my fist to my mouth, trying to process what she was saying.
“The Vitales?” I managed. “But why would they—”
“There's talk that Vincenzo was skimming money from their operations. Getting too ambitious. Too arrogant.” Madonna's voice turned bitter. “He always thought he was smarter than everyone else. Apparently, the Vitales agreed.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was it. My way out.
“I was there,” my voice shook. “I came home and heard yelling in my kitchen. Three men had Vincenzo on the floor. There was so much blood, Zia. So much.” I wasn't lying. Not really. I had seen blood. And there were three men, Rocco, Pike, and Vincenzo.
“Madonna santa,” she breathed. “Why didn't you call the police?”
“Because I was terrified they’d come after me next.” The truth bled into my voice now. “So, I grabbed my passport, and I didn't even pack a bag. I just ran.”
Silence stretched between us. I could hear her breathing, processing.
“You should’ve come to me.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “I would’ve protected you.”
“I couldn't risk dragging you into this.” Tears streamed down my face. “I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”
“Piccola...” Madonna's voice broke. “You're alive. That's all that matters.”
I pressed my palm to my chest, trying to hold myself together.
I needed to know whether she knew where Vincenzo had gone. “What happened to Vincenzo?”
“He was in the hospital for two weeks, but then he disappeared, and no one's seen him since.”
My blood ran cold.
“The word on the street is that the Vitales killed him,” Madonna continued, “and dumped him somewhere he'll never be found.”
I couldn't breathe.
Declan appeared in the doorway, hair damp, concern etched across his face. His eyes met mine, and he strode to me, sitting beside me on the bed with his warm hand on my lower back.
“So are the police still looking for me?” I whispered into the phone.
“The police questioned me and asked if I knew where you'd gone. I told them I had no idea. But I told them how horrible Vincenzo was to you. I’m sorry, Bella, I couldn’t protect that man.
He was so mean to you.” Madonna's tone became gentle. “They told me it was just Vincenzo’s blood on your kitchen floor, so I knew you weren’t hurt.
At least that’s what I was hoping. I knew you would contact me once you were safe. ”
“Thank you,” I managed, “for not telling them anything.”
“There was nothing to tell.” She paused. “You’re safe now, Bella. You deserve better than that bastardo.”
A sad laugh escaped me. “I know that now.”
My eyes met Declan's. I’d already found a better man.
“Is there someone with you?” Madonna asked suddenly. “You sound... different… calmer.”
Declan watched me with that steady, patient gaze that made me feel like I could survive anything.
“Yes,” I said softly. “There's someone.”
“Good.” Warmth crept into Madonna's voice. “Bene, piccola. You deserve happiness. After everything that bastardo put you through, you deserve a man who treats you well.”
My throat tightened. “I know, and he does.” I glanced at Declan. “He's good to me.”
“Good.” Madonna exhaled. “Then keep it that way. Stay in Australia. Build a new life. And for the love of God, call me more than once every two months.”
I laughed through my tears. “I'll call. I promise.”
“And, Bella?” Madonna's tone turned fierce. “You did nothing wrong. Running was smart. Staying silent was smart. You survived. That's what matters. I love you.”
She didn't know how wrong she was. But hearing her say that she loved me and tell me I wasn't a monster had relief rushing through me like an avalanche.
“I love you, too, Aunt Madonna.”
“Now I need to get back to my beauty sleep. Call me next week, and every week after that. I just want to hear your voice.”
“I will. I promise.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone in my lap, my body trembling.
Declan's arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me against his chest. I collapsed into him, pressing my face to his shirt.
“The police think the mafia killed him,” I choked out.
“Huh.” Declan frowned. Blinked at me. Then nodded. “Then that’s good,” he murmured into my hair. “We couldn’t have asked for a better solution.”
Madonna would never know the truth.
Nobody other than Declan would.
I pulled back just enough to look up at Declan. His pale blue eyes searched mine, full of understanding and compassion.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?”
“For being here. For...” I gestured helplessly. “For everything.”
He cupped my face in his hands, thumbs brushing away my tears. “You don't have to thank me for that.”
“Yes, I do.” I covered his hands with mine. “You saved my life, Declan. More than once.”
“And you saved mine.” His mouth curved into a tired smile. “So, I'd say we're even.”
I leaned over and kissed him. Soft and slow.
When I pulled back, his eyes had darkened, heat flickering there despite the exhaustion lining his face.
“Come on,” he said, standing. “Let's get some sleep.”
I let him lay me back and pull the sheet over me. He kissed my forehead, the kiss tender on my skin but absolutely devastating to my heart.
I was falling for him. No, it was more than that. I had already fallen for him. Hard.
Declan crawled into bed beside me and pulled me against his chest, my head tucked under his chin, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. “Bella?” he murmured.
“Yeah?”
“Your secrets are safe with me. All of them.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of weeks of fear finally lifting from my shoulders.
Madonna thought I was innocent.
The police thought the mafia had killed Vincenzo.
And the only two people in the world who knew the truth were right here in this bed.
“I know,” I whispered.
And for the first time in a very, very long time, I actually believed I was safe.