Chapter 2
Isa's POV
My heart was trying to beat out of my chest.
Shit. How much did he hear?
"Isa, what did you just say?" Vito sat in his wheelchair, face dark as thunder, eyes boring into me.
My mind raced. My palms were slick with sweat.
"I was talking to Sophia." I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Her husband's screwing around again. I told her to dump his ass."
Vito stared at me for several seconds, those deep-set eyes like they could strip me bare and see every lie.
I didn't look away. Time stopped.
Just when I thought I'd crack, he suddenly sighed. "That piece of shit again? I'll send Marco to have a little chat with him."
Relief hit me so hard my knees almost buckled.
"Isa." Vito wheeled closer, his voice softening. "The doctor said you can go home tomorrow."
He reached out to take my hand.
I stared at that hand—the one that had grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the wall, the one that had wrapped around my throat until I couldn't breathe, the one that had pushed me down the stairs.
I flinched backward instinctively.
Vito's face went white as a sheet.
"You're... you're AFRAID of me?" His voice cracked, eyes instantly welling with tears. "Isa, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I didn't know you were pregnant. I thought I could control myself..."
He suddenly grabbed my hand and slapped himself across the face with it.
CRACK!
The sound sharp and clear. His cheek immediately flushed red.
"I should be DEAD!" He was crying now, continuing to use my hand to hit himself. "Our baby's gone because of ME! Isa, please—hit me back! End me if that's what it takes! I don't deserve to fucking BREATHE..."
Once. Twice. His cheek swelled quickly, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
Three years ago, I would've been sobbing in his arms by now. Would've said it's okay, that I forgive him, that we'd have more children.
Now? All I felt was disgust.
Always the same act. Every single time these past three years.
"Enough." I yanked my hand back coldly.
Vito froze, surprise flashing in his eyes before drowning in deeper anguish. "Isa..."
"I'm tired, Vito." I turned away, staring at the grey sky outside the window.
For some reason, I suddenly remembered the winter after we first got married.
Heavy snow had fallen. Vito spun me around in the snow, promising to give me the best of everything in the world.
I'd laughed until tears streamed down my face, saying all I needed was him.
That version of me never could've imagined that three years later, I'd wish I'd never loved him at all.
"Okay, okay." Vito's voice dropped to barely a whisper, carefully placating. "Rest. This is all on me."
He clasped my ice-cold hand. "Once you're better, I'll take you to Sicily. You've always wanted to see the ocean there, right? We can stay in a villa by the sea, watch the sunrise and sunset every day..."
Sicily.
I closed my eyes. Something lodged tight in my chest.
"Fine." My voice was flat.
Vito kept talking. About how he'd treat me better. How he'd make it up to me. How we'd have children in the future.
I didn't hear a single word.
Only when he finally left and the door clicked shut did I breathe again.
I pulled my phone from under the pillow and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years.
It rang three times.
"Isa?"
Hearing that deep, familiar voice, tears suddenly streamed down my face.
Luca. My brother.
Three years ago, when I insisted on marrying Vito against everyone's wishes, Luca had blocked my path. He said Vito wasn't good enough for me, that such a selfish, cold-hearted man couldn't be trusted, that I'd regret it.
We'd had a massive fight. I told him to mind his own business, that I loved Vito, that I'd rather die than leave him.
After that, I never reached out to him again.
"I know what he did." Luca's voice was pure venom. "I'm taking my guys over there RIGHT NOW to put a bullet in that motherfucker's head. Nobody touches my sister and lives."
"Don't." I wiped away my tears. "If you go after him now, I'll be in more danger."
Silence on the other end. I heard Luca take a deep breath.
"Tell me what you need." His voice dropped low, controlled fury bleeding through.
"Help me draft divorce papers." My voice was soft but unwavering. "And I need to leave New York. The sooner the better."
"Consider it done." His voice was steady and solid. "Three days. Private airfield. I'll be waiting."
After hanging up, I stared at the black screen.
The phone suddenly lit up—a message from Vito.
A wall of apologies. Pictures of expensive gifts. Jewelry, handbags, luxury cars.
As if throwing money around could fix everything.
I powered off the phone.
The next day, I checked out of the hospital.
The doctor stopped me with a lengthy lecture. Severe bodily trauma. Need proper recovery. Might have trouble conceiving in the future.
I listened expressionlessly and signed the discharge papers.
Walking past the OB-GYN department, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Down the hall, Vito stood tall—no wheelchair in sight—with his arm around some woman's waist, kissing her forehead like they were the only two people in the world.
His legs worked PERFECTLY.
