chapter 14

Isabella's POV

The nightmare hit like a freight train.

I woke up at 4 a.m., gasping, my body drenched in sweat. The echoes of screams-my own-still rang in my ears. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it would shatter my ribs. But I refused to stay in that moment, to let fear consume me.

I threw off the covers and changed into a tracksuit and a loose shirt, ensuring that most of my skin was covered. Even so, some of my tattoos peeked through the fabric. They were reminders, etched into my flesh, of everything I had endured. Everything I had survived.

I slipped out of my room and made my way to the basement gym, my body aching with every step. The bruises and lingering pain from my past still clung to me, but I didn't care. Pain was nothing new. Pain was a friend.

The gym was empty, just how I liked it. Dimly lit, filled with the scent of sweat and iron, it was my sanctuary. Without hesitation, I began my brutal training routine, one I had crafted for myself-one that would break anyone else but barely scratched the surface of what I needed to feel alive.

I started with push-ups, ignoring the burning protest of my muscles. One hundred. Then another set. Then another. My arms trembled, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.

Next came weight training. I loaded the barbell with more weight than necessary, the strain in my body a welcome distraction from the war raging in my mind. Every lift, every squat, every press-it was all a fight against the memories that threatened to suffocate me.

By the time I moved on to the punching bag, my hands were raw, but I didn't wrap them. I wanted to feel the sting of every impact, to feel something real. My fists slammed into the bag, each strike fueled by the ghosts of my past. My breathing was ragged, my knuckles bleeding, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

Not until the door creaked open.

Marco's POV

I leaned against the doorframe, watching her.

She hadn't even noticed me yet. Her focus was razor-sharp, her expression unreadable as she landed punch after punch against the bag. She was pushing herself too hard-I could see it in the way her body wavered between strikes, the way her breathing came in sharp, uneven bursts.

Her hands were bleeding.

I clenched my jaw.

It was like she didn't care. Like she wanted to break herself apart, piece by piece.

Finally, I cleared my throat, stepping forward. "Why the hell are you up this early?" I kept my tone calm, though inside, I was anything but.

She turned, her stance still tense, defensive. Sweat dripped from her forehead, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. "Couldn't sleep. Needed to train."

My eyes flickered to the tattoos peeking through her sleeves. My stomach twisted. "You have tattoos?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I do."

I took another step closer, scanning them. "When did you get them? And why?"

"A while ago. And because I wanted to."

I narrowed my eyes. "Did they force you?"

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "No one forces me to do anything, Marco. I got them for my own reasons."

I wanted to push, but I didn't. Instead, I forced a sigh, reaching for a towel. "You should take care of your hands. You'll ruin them if you keep training like this."

She looked down at her raw knuckles, then back at me. "They've been through worse."

I clenched my fists. I didn't like that answer.

Grabbing the first aid kit, I motioned for her to sit. She hesitated but eventually obeyed. I worked silently, dabbing at the torn skin, wrapping her hands with careful precision.

"You need sleep, Isabella," I muttered. "You think you're helping yourself, but you're not. You're just breaking yourself down."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. And you know it."

She didn't argue this time. Just watched as I finished wrapping her hands.

"Come on," I said, standing up. "You're going to bed."

Surprisingly, she let me guide her back to her room.

She hesitated at the edge of the bed, but I didn't give her a choice. I pulled back the covers and gestured for her to lie down.

She did.

And then-God help me-I climbed in beside her. On top of the blankets, nothing inappropriate, just close enough so she wouldn't feel alone.

"You're not alone, Isabella," I murmured. "You never were. And you never will be."

For a while, she was still. Tense. As if even in sleep, she couldn't let her guard down.

But then, slowly, she turned over-her body curling slightly, seeking warmth. Seeking comfort.

And she cuddled into me.

I froze.

Her face, usually so guarded, so cold, looked peaceful. Relaxed in a way I hadn't seen in years.

Something in my chest ached.

She had been through so much. Too much. And yet, here she was, instinctively searching for safety in her sleep.

I wasn't sure if I could ever give her what she needed, but as long as I was here, I wouldn't let anything happen to her.

With a quiet sigh, I let my eyes close. For now, at least, she was safe. And for the first time in a long time, she was sleeping peacefully.

That was enough.

Isabella's POV

Muffled whispers tickled at my consciousness. I stirred slightly but didn't fully wake.

"Shut up, you'll wake them!"

Them?

I barely processed the words before I snuggled closer to what I thought was my pillow.

Only it wasn't a pillow.

Laughter erupted around me as a deep chuckle vibrated against my ear. My eyes shot open, and I realized my "pillow" was Marco.

I jolted upright in horror, only to miscalculate and roll straight off the bed. A sharp pain shot through my side as I hit the floor with a groan.

"Shit! Isabella!" Marco's voice was laced with panic, and suddenly, multiple sets of hands were reaching for me.

I groaned again, my head spinning. "I'm fine..."

"No, you're not!" one of my brothers said, kneeling beside me. "You just took a nosedive off the bed!"

Marco ran a hand through his hair, looking both exasperated and relieved. "Damn it, Bella."

Before I could respond, my phone rang. Everyone instinctively checked their own before my brother handed me mine.

Miguel.

My second-in-command.

I stared at the screen before hanging up. "I'm going to get ready for the day," I announced, pushing myself up.

The room went silent before, one by one, they filtered out, leaving me alone once again.

Perfect.

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