Nicoletta Bellucci
Several days later, when sunlight warmed the edge of her blanket, Nicoletta opened her eyes. The room that had been full of tension and urgent voices now felt like the calm before a storm.
A nurse passed in the doorway. A doctor murmured something. And then Marcus walked in—silent, shadow-like, protecting her with every step.
“They’re discharging you, amore,” he said softly as he approached.
She sat up, feeling the lingering weakness in her body—but the unease in her chest was deeper. The world suddenly felt fragile. Breakable.
Marcus helped her dress, his fingers brushing fabric, fixing buttons, smoothing her hair over her shoulders. He didn’t say much. But his silence spoke louder than words. He didn’t leave her side.
When they stepped outside, they were ambushed
