By the time my father reached the crash site, he had already mobilized a full strike team of the country’s top underworld medical specialists—men and women our syndicate kept on payroll for emergencies exactly like this. He ordered all of them to remain on standby until he personally declared otherwise.
It was my eldest brother, Felix Moretti, notorious for his monstrous strength even within the Moretti crime empire, who ripped the twisted car door clean off its hinges and dragged me out with his bare hands. The driver hadn’t survived—one glance told us that—and when my father saw my limp, blood-soaked form, something ancient and violent shattered behind his eyes.
Scooping me into his arms, he carried me straight into the emergency wing of the Moretti Family’s private hospital, the one reserved only for our clan’s highest-ranking members.
“Sir,” one of the surgeons reported urgently, “the young madam’s pulse is extremely weak. According to her injuries, she’d already been in a previous accident… and it appears she recently underwent a surgical procedure. Also—”
The doctor hesitated.
Jake, my second brother, thundered across the hall with barely restrained fury.
“Finish your sentence. Also what?”
The surgeon swallowed hard.
“Don Moretti… the young madam suffered a miscarriage earlier. Her body is too unstable for a full operation. The safest option is cardiac stimulation—electrical revival—but even that carries extreme risk.”
With a grim nod from my father—the reigning head of the Moretti Mafia dynasty—the medical team rushed me away.
“But Dad, what if she can’t—” Jake choked out, panic bleeding into his voice.
“There are no ‘what-ifs,’” my father snapped. “Bella is my daughter. She will survive. She must. For all of us.”
My mother, Donna Elena Moretti, clung to his arm. Her tears shimmered, but beneath them burned a fury that radiated like wildfire.
“She called me,” my father whispered, voice breaking for the first time in decades. “Right before the crash.” His breath hitched. “She sounded terrified.”
He closed his eyes, pain twisting his expression.
“My daughter said she was a disappointment. Whoever planted that idea in her head—whoever dared hurt her—I’ll make his suffering last a lifetime.”
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Adrian felt a chill crawl up his spine. A strange, gnawing panic twisted in his gut. Instinct told him to call me, but just as his hand reached for the phone, Veronica gently pushed it back down.
“Let Bella cool off,” she whispered. “She’s probably already home.”
Adrian exhaled sharply. “Fine. If I give in now, she’ll think she can throw tantrums and I'll always cave.”
---
By morning, his irritation had curdled into unease. He dialed the house.
“Is Bella still asleep? She hasn’t answered my calls. Put her on—I'm at her favorite café. Ask her what she wants for breakfast.”
The staff member’s trembling voice replied,
“Sir… the young madam never came home last night.”
A cold prickle shot down Adrian’s spine, but he forced his mind to cling to denial. She was mad at him—that was all.
He dialed her workplace next.
“Sarah? It’s Adrian. Put Bella on the phone. How irresponsible can she be—”
“Don Adrian,” the woman said, confused, “Bella didn’t come to work today.”
“What do you mean she didn’t? She isn’t home either.”
The confidence drained from his voice.
Before he could make sense of anything, the café’s TV switched to a breaking news report:
PRINCESS BELLA IN CRITICAL CONDITION AFTER HORRIFIC COLLISION
His phone buzzed violently—an incoming call from his mother and Veronica. Veronica’s sobs filled the speaker, while his mother spoke over her.
“Adrian, the engagement banquet has been canceled,” his mother announced. “The allied Families refuse to attend while the Moretti princess fights for her life. Veronica is devastated—”
“I don’t care!” Adrian roared, silencing the entire café. Even the hum of the espresso machine seemed to stop.
“That banquet means nothing when I don’t even know where my wife is!”
“What? Bella isn’t home? How could she vanish like that—especially while she carries your child? Adrian, you should never have married that orphan girl. These things happen when—”
He didn’t hear the rest.
His phone slipped from his hand and crashed onto the floor.
The TV broadcast shifted to a family portrait—
The Moretti Don and Donna, seated regally, their two sons behind them.
A small girl—me—perched on the Don’s lap, smiling shyly at the camera.
Anyone who saw it would know instantly:
She had been cherished.
Protected.
Raised like royalty within one of the most feared Mafia empires in the world.
The resemblance was unmistakable—
the same golden-blonde hair streaked with black,
the same eyes,
the same name.
Bella.
