The Devil's Claim: A Price Paid In Blood And Passion

Isabella's Point Of View “Isabella Russo?” A nurse called out, her voice piercing through my clouded thoughts. “Here!” I jumped to my feet, my legs trembling as I followed her down the cold, white corridor. My mind raced, filled with every possible scenario. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe they’ll say it’s just stress, and I’ll be out of here in an hour. Maybe… “Dr. Moretti will see you now,” the nurse said, opening the door to a small examination room. Dr. Moretti was already seated behind his desk, his face grim. That was never a good sign. He gestured for me to sit down, and I sank into the chair, feeling like I was being swallowed whole. “Isabella,” he began, his tone too gentle, too kind. “I’ve reviewed your latest tests, and… I’m afraid the news isn’t good.” My throat tightened. “Just tell me, please.” He sighed, glancing down at the file in front of him before meeting my eyes. “Your condition has worsened. The hypertrophic cardiomyopathy is progressing faster than we anticipated. Without a heart transplant, you’re looking at six months… maybe less for you to survive.” The room spun. I blinked back the burning in my eyes. Six months? I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My thoughts collided in a jumbled mess of fear, denial, and helplessness. “A transplant,” I finally managed to whisper. “How… how do I even begin to pay for that?” Dr. Moretti’s expression softened, but it didn’t ease the knot in my chest. “I know this is overwhelming, Isabella. There are some options for financial assistance, but before it gets approved, it could take forever and right now, time isn’t on your side.” “No, it’s not,” I muttered, my voice barely audible. I was supposed to have time. I was supposed to be worrying about my art, my dreams, not whether or not I’d live to see the next year. “Is there anyone you can talk to? Family, friends? Maybe they could assist you. You shouldn’t go through this alone,” he urged. Family. The word stabbed at my heart, bringing up an image of my father. I couldn’t tell him—not after everything he’d already been through. As for friends, there was really only one person I wanted to call. “I’ll… I’ll figure it out,” I said, forcing myself to stand. My legs felt like jelly, but I managed to steady myself. “Thank you, Dr. Moretti. For everything.” “Please, don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything,” he said, standing as well. “And Isabella… I’m sorry.” I nodded, barely able to muster a response, before I turned and walked out of the room. The nurse offered me a sympathetic smile as I passed, but I couldn’t bring myself to return it. I just needed to get out of there. As soon as I was outside, I pulled my phone from my bag and dialed Luca’s number. He didn’t answer. I tried again. Still nothing. A sense of dread began to settle in the pit of my stomach. Luca always answered, especially when he knew I was at the hospital. I swallowed hard and texted him instead. Call me. It’s important. Then I started walking. I didn’t even know where I was going, but I couldn’t stay still. My mind wouldn’t let me. Six months. Just six months to live. The number echoed in my head, growing louder with each step I took. How do you even begin to process something like that? How do you accept that your time is running out, that every moment is ticking away faster than you can hold onto it? The city lights blurred past as I walked, but I barely noticed them, my mind trapped in fear. His words kept on replaying in my head. Six months. Six months to live unless I could afford a heart transplant, a life-saving operation that was so far out of my reach it might as well have been a fantasy. But right now, I couldn’t afford to think about that. All I needed was to see Luca, to be in his arms and hear him say that everything would be okay, that we’d figure this out together. He was my lifeline, the one person who could pull me back from the edge of this abyss. As I turned onto Luca street, my heart began to pound even harder. The thought of losing him terrified me even more than the looming shadow of death. He was all I had left. I brought my hands to my face to wipe the tears away. I pulled up in front of his apartment complex, gulping down air. This was it. I took a deep breath and started toward his door, my footsteps echoing in the silence. As I approached, I noticed something that made me pause—the door was slightly ajar, just enough to let a sliver of light escape into the night. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. Why was the door open? Had something happened? My heart rate picked up, thudding against my ribs like a wild drum. I hesitated on the threshold, uncertain on what to do. Should I knock? Should I call out? I bit my lips before I pushed the door open, slowly, and stepped inside. The apartment was dark, the only light coming from a dim lamp in the living room. I stood in the entryway, my breath catching in my throat as I took in the scene before me. Clothes were scattered on the floor, leading a trail to the bedroom door, which was partially closed. A soft, muffled noise reached my ears—laughter, followed by the unmistakable sounds of movement. My heart froze in my chest. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. My mind screamed at me to turn around, to leave before I could confirm the horrifying suspicion forming in my mind. But my feet refused to move. Instead, I found myself walking toward the bedroom, each step heavy with dread. With trembling hands, I pushed the door open. There, tangled in the sheets, was Luca. And he wasn’t alone. Another woman was with him, naked, her body draped across his in a way that left no doubt about what they’d been doing. The sight hit me like a freight train, the sheer brutality of it ripping through me with the force of a thousand knives. For a moment, all I could do was stand there, frozen in shock, my mind unable to process what I was seeing. My legs felt like they might give out at any second, my heart racing so fast I thought it might stop altogether. Luca looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw me standing there. But instead of the guilt or regret I had foolishly hoped for, there was only irritation in his gaze. He pulled away from the woman and sat up, his expression cold and indifferent. “Isabella, what are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice harsh and uncaring. The sound of my name on his lips jolted me out of my stupor, and suddenly, the shock gave way to a tidal wave of pain and anger. “What am I doing here?” I repeated, “What am I doing here? I came to tell you that I’m dying, Luca! I have six months left to live, and this—” I gestured wildly at the scene in front of me, tears streaming down my face before I could control them, “And this is what I found?” He rolled his eyes, clearly unbothered by my pain. “Isabella, I never signed up for this. I didn’t agree to spend my life with someone who’s going to drop dead any day now.” His words were like a slap to the face, knocking the breath out of me. I felt like I had been punched in the gut, the air ripped from my lungs. “How could you say that?” I choked out, “How could you be so cruel after everything we have been through?” Luca shrugged, completely indifferent. “Look, I’m sorry about your condition, but I’m not going to let it ruin my life. I’ve got my own future to think about, and that doesn’t include taking care of a dying girlfriend. You can't even have s*x without heaving as if you are about to die.” “Wh–what?” The sheer callousness of his words made me want to scream, but all I could do was stand there, shaking. Mascara and tears rushing down my cheeks. This was the man I had loved, the man I had trusted with my heart. And now, in my darkest hour, he was throwing me away like I was nothing. The woman beside him, was everything I was not. Beautiful, sexy and shameless. She had been silent until now, “Maybe you should leave, sweetheart. Luca’s moved on. You should too.” Her words were the final straw. Something inside me snapped, the fragile thread holding me together finally breaking. “You know what? f**k both of you.” I turned on my heel and walked away, not even bothering to look back. I couldn’t stay there another second. The tears I had held back started to fall as soon as I was out of the building, blurring my vision as I stumbled down the street. My mind was racing. Six months to live. No boyfriend. No money. And my father… Oh God, my father. I didn’t even know if he could handle this. I didn’t know if I could handle this. The walk back to my apartment was a blur. All I knew was that I needed to see my father, to tell him… to tell him something, anything that wouldn’t break his heart. When I finally reached the small, crumbling building where we lived, I stopped dead in my tracks. There were voices coming from inside—angry, threatening voices. My heart pounded as I pushed the door open and rushed into the living room. There, standing over my father, were two men I didn’t recognize. “What the hell is going on?”