Chapter 3
Isa's POV
I stood frozen, completely hollow inside.
Vito stood upright. His legs were long and strong, posture graceful and steady, moving like any normal person—no, he WAS normal.
There was nothing wrong with his legs. Nothing at all.
I knew his mania was fake. I just didn't know his disability was too.
Three years. I massaged his legs every night, listening to him complain about the pain keeping him awake. I stayed by his side through endless physical therapy sessions, watching him break down in despair because he "couldn't stand."
Every single moment—a LIE.
Down the hall, Elena was crying, eyes red and swollen. Vito's face grew darker by the second, jaw clenched tight, brow furrowed deep.
I knew that look too well—the warning before an "episode."
My heart started hammering. Any second now, he'd start throwing things, losing control, he'd—
Vito raised his hand.
Every muscle in my body tensed. I almost rushed forward to stop him.
But he only gently wiped away the tears streaming down Elena's face. So tender. So careful. Like she was made of glass.
A bitter laugh escaped my throat.
Of course Vito would never hurt Elena. All his violence, all his rage—he saved it just for me.
Back home, I pushed open the door on autopilot.
Our wedding photo still hung crooked on the wall, glass half-shattered from when Vito "lost it" last month. Bloodstains on the couch from two weeks ago when he shoved me into the coffee table. The bedroom doorknob gleamed new—I'd broken the old one trying to escape while he locked me inside.
This house was a museum of my pain.
I walked into the bedroom and pulled a small suitcase from the back of the closet. Started packing mechanically. Passport. ID. Bank cards.
My hand brushed the expensive clothes and jewelry Vito had given me. I froze.
Those things that once meant so much now looked obscene. Each piece marked with my blood and tears.
I didn't want any of it.
In the end, I packed only a few simple outfits and snapped the suitcase shut.
"Isa, what are you doing?"
Vito's voice cut through the silence behind me.
I turned. He sat in that goddamn wheelchair, staring at my passport and suitcase with cold, suspicious eyes.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"London." I kept my fists clenched, voice carefully steady. "There's a specialist there who works with nerve damage. Maybe he can help your legs."
"NO!" The word exploded out of him.
He caught himself, took a breath, and forced his tone softer. "I mean... we've tried everything. So many doctors, so many treatments. Isa, what's the point—"
"I just want to try." I crossed to him and knelt down, beginning the nightly ritual of massaging his calves. "Maybe if your legs get better, your mental state will improve too."
My fingers worked over muscles that had nothing wrong with them. Perfectly healthy legs beneath my hands.
"Isa, stop." Vito reached for my hands. "You've done enough for me. More than enough—"
"Why won't you let me help you?" I looked up suddenly, voice shaking. "Do you really love me? Or is there someone else? Have you been lying to me all along?"
Something flickered in Vito's eyes.
"It's not like that." He grabbed my hands, voice going rough. "Isa, I'm just... I'm terrified."
"Of what?"
"That nothing will work." He looked away. "Three years of hoping, three years of disappointment. I can't go through it again. Because if this treatment fails too, I'll..." His voice cracked. "I'll have nothing left."
"Isa..." He met my eyes again, his own turning red. "I'm sorry. I know how selfish this is, making you suffer alongside me. But you have to believe me—I love you. I've ALWAYS loved you. I would never lie to you."
He paused, then continued. "You remember five years ago? The Russo-Delgado war? You got snatched, locked in that warehouse at the docks."
"I went in alone. Took three bullets getting you out. Nearly died. Spent a month in a coma. When I finally woke up, you asked if I regretted it..."
"I said no. Isa, I meant it. Even knowing what would happen, I'd do it again. So please, PLEASE believe me. I could never betray you. Never deceive you."
Tears fell from his eyes onto my neck, warm and wet.
But I felt nothing. My heart had sunk so deep, it couldn't be reached anymore.
Vito was a master at this. Even now, still performing. Using our most precious memories as weapons, twisting the knife deeper with every word.
"I know." I forced a smile, voice gentle. "Losing the baby just... it messed with my head. Made me paranoid. I'm sorry, Vito."
Relief flooded his face. He kissed my forehead softly. "I understand, baby. Get some rest. I've got work to handle."
After Vito left, I stood to hang up his coat.
My fingers found his phone in the pocket. I stopped breathing.
I'd never checked Vito's phone. Not once in three years. That wasn't who I was.
But now? Now I needed to know what else he'd been hiding.
Several unread messages lit up the screen. All from Elena.
[Vito, thank you for today. I don't know what I would've done without you. Joe was being a complete asshole again, even got physical...]
[I've been thinking about what you said... Do you really think Isa would accept me and the baby?]
[I know I'm asking for too much, but this baby needs a father. If you're really willing to do this, I'd be forever grateful...]
The phone shook in my trembling hands.
A baby. Vito wanted to raise Elena's baby. Another man's child.
I'd just lost OUR baby—the one he KILLED—and he couldn't wait to play daddy to someone else's kid.
How could he be so generous? Open his arms to Elena and her bastard child with another man. But what about our baby? The one he pushed down the stairs? The one he let bleed out on our Persian carpet?
Something inside my chest felt like it was being crushed by an iron fist.
"ISA!"
Vito's voice exploded behind me. "What the HELL are you doing?!"
A crystal vase came hurtling toward my head—
