Chapter 5
1267 Words
3:42 a.m. — Her hotel suite, Venice
They were both on the floor.
She clung to his chest like it was the only thing holding her together.
And he held her like she might vanish if he loosened his grip for even a second.
No more words.
Just breathing.
Just being.
Like two people too destroyed to speak,
and too in love to stop holding on.
---
Eventually, he lifted her into bed.
Didn’t dress her.
Didn’t touch her again.
He just wrapped her in blankets and pulled her into his arms like she was something sacred.
For a long time, she thought he had fallen asleep.
But then he whispered—
> “I used to think I’d bury you.”
She blinked, eyes burning.
> “What?”
His fingers slid through her hair.
> “That this would end with you dead. And me… drinking myself blind somewhere on a yacht, pretending I never knew your name.”
She didn’t speak.
> “But now—”
He exhaled.
“Now I want something I never thought I’d want.”
> “What?”
> “A future.”
Her throat closed. She turned in his arms.
> “With me?”
His voice broke.
> “Who the f**k else?”
---
He kissed her then. Soft.
Not to own. Not to dominate.
Just to feel her.
To let her know that even if everything else burned,
she was the thing he’d go into the fire for.
> “You’re not dying, Isabella.”
“I won’t let you.”
“You live. For me. With me. Until the end.”
She buried her face in his neck.
And whispered the first thing that felt true in days:
> “Then you can’t leave. Not even once. If you disappear again, I won’t survive it.”
> “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “You’re mine now. You said it. You swore it.”
> “And if someone tries to take me?”
> “I’ll kill them.”
---
Outside, the sky turned violet.
Inside, they fell asleep tangled in sheets, breath, sweat, and everything they couldn’t admit to anyone else.
And for the first time since the beginning—
They both believed
maybe
they’d survive this.
Together.
Three nights later — 1:12 a.m., Florence
The call came while she was in the bath.
Skin soaked. Eyes closed. A rare moment of quiet.
Her phone buzzed once.
Twice.
Then again.
She almost ignored it.
Until she saw the name on the screen: Rocco — Leonardo’s second-in-command.
> “What?” she answered, water dripping from her arm.
But Rocco’s voice didn’t come smooth and calm like always.
It came tight. Choked.
> “Isabella… he’s been hit.”
Everything in her stilled.
> “What?”
> “Ambush. Near the port. He’s at Santa Maria Nuova. Critical. He—he asked for you.”
The world snapped.
---
She didn’t think.
Didn’t dress.
Didn’t call a driver.
She ran.
Out of the apartment. Down marble steps.
Still barefoot.
Hair dripping down her back.
Her silk nightgown flying around her knees in the cold Florence night.
People stared.
She didn’t see them.
She crossed streets without looking.
Barged through hospital doors like she was on fire.
Security tried to stop her—she screamed.
> “Valentini. Leonardo. Where is he—WHERE IS HE?!”
Blood on her hands.
Not his. Her own.
From where her feet had sliced on gravel and glass.
She didn’t care.
She had to see him.
---
Finally—Room 407. ICU.
And when the doors opened,
and she saw him there—
bloody, pale, tubes in his nose, his mouth stitched shut with pain—
She collapsed.
Straight to her knees.
On the cold tile floor.
Like her body couldn’t hold her love anymore.
---
A nurse tried to pull her up. She shoved her off.
> “Don’t touch me. That’s my man.”
> “Miss, he’s sedated—”
> “That’s my f**king man!”
Her voice cracked.
> “And if he dies, I die with him.”
---
Later, they let her in.
She sat beside him, bloody feet curled beneath her, fingers curled in his hair.
She whispered into his ear, not knowing if he could hear her:
> “You promised you wouldn’t leave me.”
“You said we’d survive.”
“You’re not allowed to go before me, Leo. I swear to God, I’ll come drag you back by the soul.”
Tears ran down her face.
She gripped his wrist, feeling the weak pulse thud against her palm.
> “You breathe, Leonardo. You fight. You come back to me.”
> “Because I won’t survive this world without you.”
ICU, Florence — 3:19 a.m.
The machines beeped softly around them.
Monitors glowed. The air stank of antiseptic and grief.
She hadn’t moved from his bedside.
Not even when they cleaned his wounds.
Not when they stitched the hole in his side.
Not when they told her he might not wake up for days.
She just sat there—
Blanket over her shoulders.
Feet bandaged.
Eyes hollow.
Fingers locked in his.
---
She was whispering his name for the thousandth time when it happened.
A twitch.
She didn’t notice it at first.
Then—his fingers tightened.
Just slightly.
She froze.
> “Leonardo?”
His eyelids fluttered.
Once.
Twice.
Then—open.
And the first thing he saw—
Was her.
---
Hair tangled.
Eyes swollen.
Blood on her knees and toes.
Her silk nightgown wrinkled and stained from the street.
And God—
she looked like an angel crawling out of hell.
He tried to speak.
His throat cracked, raw.
> “Bella…”
She gasped. Choked.
> “Oh my God—Leo—”
She rose too fast, nearly fell.
Gripped his face like he might vanish again.
> “You’re here. You’re f***ing here—”
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
> “You stupid, reckless bastard—you scared me. You f*ing scared me.”
His eyes scanned her—her wounds, her bare feet, the shaking.
> “What happened to you?” he rasped.
She let out a sound that was part laugh, part sob.
> “I ran here. Barefoot. In a nightgown. Through the streets like a lunatic.”
She leaned in close, her forehead pressed to his.
> “Because I thought you were dying.”
He coughed—winced—groaned.
> “You came barefoot… for me?”
> “I would’ve come in chains.”
---
His hand lifted slowly, fingers brushing her jaw, her lips, her cheek like he couldn’t believe she was real.
> “I should’ve died,” he whispered.
> “Don’t say that.”
> “No, listen.”
His voice cracked.
“If you hadn’t been here… I would’ve let go. But I heard you. I felt you. You pulled me back.”
She kissed his knuckles.
> “Don’t you ever leave me like that again.”
> “I won’t.”
His eyes darkened.
“But if something happens to you… I swear, Isabella, I’ll kill the whole f***ing world.”
---
He fell asleep again—this time, safe, with her wrapped around his side.
And when the nurse came in, shocked to see her still there, barefoot and bloodstained, Isabella just looked at her and said:
> “He’s mine. You can’t move me.”
- Writer
