“Not this nonsense again! Stop throwing around baseless accusations!” Adrian snapped, frustration finally slipping through the polished tone expected of a Mafia Don.

“Then explain it,” I shot back. “You and Theodore both drove here tonight, yet you insist on personally escorting Veronica home. Why is it always you? Why never any of your men? Why never anyone else?”

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face before he forced himself to breathe slowly—Don composure returning.

“Bella… are we really doing this again? Jealousy over Veronica?” His voice sharpened, the air between us tightening. “How many times must I repeat myself? She’s practically family—like a younger sister in the syndicate.”

He squared his shoulders, slipping back into that calm, calculated tone he used in Family negotiations.

“She’s in this city without allies, separated from her husband, raising her little boy alone. Do you expect me, her Don, to ignore her struggles? She’s been by my side since we were children in the organization. I won’t abandon her during a crisis.”

“If she’s so helpless,” I countered, taking a step away from his grasp, “why is she pushing so desperately for a merger between her Family and ours? Doesn’t she care what kind of chaos that alliance could cause—for you, for our territories, for your position as Don? Or does she simply not care what you risk?”

Adrian’s brows drew together as he tried to rein me in.

“Bella, don’t involve yourself in matters of the Families. Stay home. Focus on the things you’re actually good at.” His voice sharpened. “Our territory will double once our Families unite. That is a massive advantage.”

He moved closer, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, patronizing and dismissive.

“Stop letting paranoia eat at you. You’re going to be a mother soon—jealousy will only make things harder. How will you raise our child like this?”

I almost laughed at the cruelty of it. He talked about raising a child… not knowing that our baby was already gone. Lost because of his recklessness.

“But it was you,” I whispered, “who told your men that because I grew up without parents, I wouldn’t know how to raise a child. And that Veronica should guide me.”

A shock ran through him—like someone had doused him in ice.

“You… you were listening?” he stammered. “Bella, I—I was drunk that night. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re exaggerating.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but his phone suddenly rang. Victoria’s name—Veronica’s real name, the one only the syndicate used—flashed across the screen.

He froze.

I tipped my chin. “Go ahead. Answer.”

He picked up.

Immediately, a child’s bright voice chirped through the speaker.

“Daddy! I miss you! When are you coming to play with me and Mommy? When are you coming home?”

Adrian’s face drained of color. He looked at me, horrified, praying I hadn’t heard—but I had heard everything.

He cleared his throat sharply. “Mark… call me uncle, okay?”

“Why? Mommy said I can call you Dad.”

Adrian choked, scrambling for control.

“Your mother is here with me. We’ll be home soon.”

He hung up fast, guilt written all over him.

“Bella—” he began, reaching for me.

I met his eyes, every bone in my body tired. “Do whatever you want, Adrian. I’m done talking.”

I turned to walk away, but he immediately pulled me into his arms from behind, tightening his grip as if force alone could keep me from slipping through his fingers.

“You need to adapt, Bella,” he murmured near my ear. “I can’t indulge your every emotion anymore. But from today onward, I’ll be better. For you. For our Family. For our child.”

He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek—like a bandage on a fatal wound.

Before I reached home, my phone buzzed.

From Theodore:

Sis-in-law, Veronica’s not doing well, so the Don won’t be coming home tomorrow.

My stomach twisted. Adrian had been planning a grand banquet to welcome Veronica’s Family for weeks—yet now, because I openly objected to the merger, he clearly didn’t want me anywhere near it.

Hands shaking, I opened social media.

Veronica had posted:

“Shopping for tomorrow’s banquet. Picking matching suits for my two men.”

Attached was a photo.

Adrian holding her son.

Her leaning into him like they were a family.

Pain tore through me.

Before I could even breathe, the driver shouted:

“Madam—duck your head!”

I looked up just as a massive truck swerved toward us. The driver jerked the wheel, but it was too late—

Metal shrieked.

The world spun.

The car flipped.

My body smashed against the ceiling. Everything blurred.

“Mom… Dad… big brother…”

Memories splintered through me like glass.

Warm liquid dripped down my arm.

Blood. Mine.

With trembling fingers, I dialed my father—one last attempt, one last goodbye.

He answered immediately.

“Bella? What’s this? You only remember your father now—”

“D… Dad…” My breath hitched. “I—I’m sorry… sorry for disappointing you… Tell Mom I… I love you…”

The phone slipped from my hand.

My mind drifted into a cold, quiet darkness.

Not once did I think of the people who destroyed me.

Not once did I think of Adrian.

Only my family.

Through the fading noise, I heard my father’s voice—shaken, terrified, breaking open.

“Bella! Bella! Damn it—where are you, my daughter?!”

And then the world went black.

By the time my father reached the crash site, he had already mobilized a full strike team of the country’s top underworld medical specialists—men and women our syndicate kept on payroll for emergencies exactly like this. He ordered all of them to remain on standby until he personally declared otherwise.

It was my eldest brother, Felix Moretti, notorious for his monstrous strength even within the Moretti crime empire, who ripped the twisted car door clean off its hinges and dragged me out with his bare hands. The driver hadn’t survived—one glance told us that—and when my father saw my limp, blood-soaked form, something ancient and violent shattered behind his eyes.

Scooping me into his arms, he carried me straight into the emergency wing of the Moretti Family’s private hospital, the one reserved only for our clan’s highest-ranking members.

“Sir,” one of the surgeons reported urgently, “the young madam’s pulse is extremely weak. According to her injuries, she’d already been in a previous accident… and it appears she recently underwent a surgical procedure. Also—”

The doctor hesitated.

Jake, my second brother, thundered across the hall with barely restrained fury.

“Finish your sentence. Also what?”

The surgeon swallowed hard.

“Don Moretti… the young madam suffered a miscarriage earlier. Her body is too unstable for a full operation. The safest option is cardiac stimulation—electrical revival—but even that carries extreme risk.”

With a grim nod from my father—the reigning head of the Moretti Mafia dynasty—the medical team rushed me away.

“But Dad, what if she can’t—” Jake choked out, panic bleeding into his voice.

“There are no ‘what-ifs,’” my father snapped. “Bella is my daughter. She will survive. She must. For all of us.”

My mother, Donna Elena Moretti, clung to his arm. Her tears shimmered, but beneath them burned a fury that radiated like wildfire.

“She called me,” my father whispered, voice breaking for the first time in decades. “Right before the crash.” His breath hitched. “She sounded terrified.”

He closed his eyes, pain twisting his expression.

“My daughter said she was a disappointment. Whoever planted that idea in her head—whoever dared hurt her—I’ll make his suffering last a lifetime.”

---

Meanwhile, across the city, Adrian felt a chill crawl up his spine. A strange, gnawing panic twisted in his gut. Instinct told him to call me, but just as his hand reached for the phone, Veronica gently pushed it back down.

“Let Bella cool off,” she whispered. “She’s probably already home.”

Adrian exhaled sharply. “Fine. If I give in now, she’ll think she can throw tantrums and I'll always cave.”

---

By morning, his irritation had curdled into unease. He dialed the house.

“Is Bella still asleep? She hasn’t answered my calls. Put her on—I'm at her favorite café. Ask her what she wants for breakfast.”

The staff member’s trembling voice replied,

“Sir… the young madam never came home last night.”

A cold prickle shot down Adrian’s spine, but he forced his mind to cling to denial. She was mad at him—that was all.

He dialed her workplace next.

“Sarah? It’s Adrian. Put Bella on the phone. How irresponsible can she be—”

“Don Adrian,” the woman said, confused, “Bella didn’t come to work today.”

“What do you mean she didn’t? She isn’t home either.”

The confidence drained from his voice.

Before he could make sense of anything, the café’s TV switched to a breaking news report:

PRINCESS BELLA IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER HORRIFIC COLLISION

His phone buzzed violently—an incoming call from his mother and Veronica. Veronica’s sobs filled the speaker, while his mother spoke over her.

“Adrian, the engagement banquet has been canceled,” his mother announced. “The allied Families refuse to attend while the Moretti princess fights for her life. Veronica is devastated—”

“I don’t care!” Adrian roared, silencing the entire café. Even the hum of the espresso machine seemed to stop.

“That banquet means nothing when I don’t even know where my wife is!”

“What? Bella isn’t home? How could she vanish like that—especially while she carries your child? Adrian, you should never have married that orphan girl. These things happen when—”

He didn’t hear the rest.

His phone slipped from his hand and crashed onto the floor.

The TV broadcast shifted to a family portrait—

The Moretti Don and Donna, seated regally, their two sons behind them.

A small girl—me—perched on the Don’s lap, smiling shyly at the camera.

Anyone who saw it would know instantly:

She had been cherished.

Protected.

Raised like royalty within one of the most feared Mafia empires in the world.

The resemblance was unmistakable—

the same golden-blonde hair streaked with black,

the same eyes,

the same name.

Bella.