Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 30

Aria’s POV

The contract tore with a satisfying rip that echoed through the small chapel. I watched the expensive paper flutter to the stone floor in pieces, each fragment carrying away another clause of Damian's obscene proposition.

"Aria!" Sister Mary's voice was sharp with shock as I stood over the scattered remains of what she believed was Jessica's salvation. "What have you done? That was—"

"That was nothing," I said firmly, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. "Nothing that I could ever accept."

Sister Mary stared at me with wide, confused eyes, her weathered hands clasping and unclasping in distress. "But Jessica... the medical bills... I don't understand. This was the answer to our prayers."

How could I explain that some answers came at too high a price? That the devil himself could offer salvation, but accepting it would damn us all? I couldn't tell her about the contract's true terms, couldn't burden her gentle soul with the knowledge of what Damian had really been buying.

"I'm sorry, Sister Mary. I know you don't understand, but I can't accept help that comes with... conditions... I'm not willing to meet."

The elderly nun's face crumpled with disappointment and confusion. "But the donor was so generous, so willing to help without asking for anything in return..."

Without asking for anything in return. If only she knew.

"Please trust me," I said, kneeling to gather the torn pieces of the contract. "I'll find another way. I have to find another way."

Sister Mary watched in stunned silence as I collected every fragment, ensuring that no trace of Damian's proposition remained to accidentally reveal its true nature. When I was finished, I stood and met her troubled gaze.

"Please don't contact that donor again. Whatever they offered, we can't accept it."

"Aria, child, what will you do? Jessica's condition is so serious, and the costs..."

"I'll work. I'll find more jobs, better paying work. I'll figure something out."

The next three days passed in a blur of desperate activity. I picked up every shift I could at Romano's café, accepted a second job cleaning offices at night, and even tried to find weekend work at the markets. My body ached from exhaustion, my hands were raw from harsh cleaning chemicals, but I threw myself into the work with manic determination.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

The numbers mocked me—fifteen euros here, twenty euros there, while Jessica's daily treatment costs ran into the hundreds. I was trying to fill an ocean with a teaspoon, but I couldn't stop. Stopping meant admitting defeat, meant accepting that I couldn't save my sister through honest work and sheer determination.

On the third night, I was slumped over a cup of cold coffee in the hospital cafeteria, calculating and recalculating my meager earnings, when the codes started blaring.

Code Blue. ICU. Code Blue. ICU.

Jessica was in the ICU.

I ran through the corridors with my heart hammering against my ribs, dodging nurses and medical equipment as alarms wailed through the sterile halls. By the time I reached Jessica's room, it was already swarming with medical personnel.

"I'm sorry, you can't go in there," a nurse said, catching my arm as I tried to push past the chaos.

Through the glass window, I could see Jessica's small form surrounded by machines and medical staff. Her body looked impossibly fragile against the white sheets, tubes and wires connecting her to devices that beeped and hummed with urgent purpose. Dr. Martinelli was barking orders while nurses adjusted IV lines and monitored vital signs.

I pressed my palms against the glass, feeling helpless and terrified as I watched them fight to save her life. Her pale face was turned toward the window, eyes closed, looking more like a sleeping angel than a sick child.

Please, I prayed silently. Please don't take her. She's all I have.

The resuscitation seemed to last forever, though it was probably only minutes. Finally, the frantic activity slowed, and Dr. Martinelli stepped back from the bed. I could see him speaking to the nurses, his expression grave but no longer panicked.

They'd stabilized her. For now.

Dr. Martinelli emerged from the room twenty minutes later, his surgical mask hanging around his neck and exhaustion etched in every line of his face. He looked older than I remembered, aged by the weight of making life-and-death decisions in sterile rooms.

"Miss Rossi," he said quietly, gesturing for me to follow him to a small consultation room away from the bustle of the ICU.

"How is she?" The question came out as barely a whisper.

"We've managed to stabilize her condition, but I'm afraid the situation is quite serious." He sat heavily in a plastic chair, rubbing his temples. "Her kidneys are failing more rapidly than we anticipated. She needs immediate dialysis—not the standard treatment, but the advanced protocol we discussed."

"What does that mean?"

"It means she needs to begin the enhanced treatment regimen within twenty-four hours, or..." He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to. The implications hung in the air between us like a death sentence.

"And the cost?"

"For the advanced dialysis and the supporting medications, we're looking at approximately eight thousand euros for the first week alone. Without immediate payment authorization, the hospital's policies require us to discontinue treatment beyond basic life support."

Eight thousand euros. The number hit me like a physical blow. It might as well have been eight million for all the chance I had of raising it.

"Doctor, please. Isn't there some kind of payment plan, some way to—"

"Miss Rossi, I wish there were other options, but the hospital's charity care budget has been exhausted for this fiscal year. Without private insurance or immediate payment, I'm afraid our hands are tied."

I spent the next six hours sitting beside Jessica's bed, holding her cold hand and watching the monitors that tracked her failing systems. She was unconscious, mercifully unaware of the battle being fought for her life, but I could see the subtle changes—the gray pallor of her skin, the slight bluish tint around her lips that spoke of organs struggling to function.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," I whispered, stroking her hair with trembling fingers. "I tried. I tried so hard to find another way."

My phone rang just after midnight, Sister Mary's name appearing on the screen. I answered with dread, already knowing what she was going to tell me.

"Aria," her voice was thick with tears. "I just received a call from the donor's representative. They've... they've decided to withdraw their support. They said the offer is no longer available."

Of course. Damian's ultimatum had expired, and now he was making good on his threat. Jessica would die because I'd been too proud, too stubborn to accept his terms.

"I understand, Sister Mary. Thank you for calling."

"Aria, I'm so sorry. I don't understand what happened, why they changed their minds. Is there anything else we can do?"

"No," I said, my voice hollow. "There's nothing else."

I ended the call and stared at Jessica's peaceful face, memorizing every detail. Her long eyelashes resting against pale cheeks, the tiny scar on her chin from a childhood fall, the way her hair curled just slightly at the ends. In a few hours, the machines would stop, and I would lose the only family I'd ever known.

All because I'd been too proud to accept the devil's bargain.

My hands shook as I scrolled through my contacts, finding the number I'd sworn never to call again. Damian answered on the first ring, as if he'd been waiting.

"Aria. I was wondering when you'd call."

"Please," I whispered, the word tearing from my throat like broken glass. "Please help her."

"I assume this means you've reconsidered my offer?"

"Yes, I'll do it. Whatever you want. Just please don't let her die."

The silence that followed stretched for an eternity. When Damian finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost gentle.

"Very good, piccola. The medical team will receive payment authorization within the hour. Jessica will receive the finest care available."

"Thank you," I breathed, tears streaming down my face.

"Don't thank me yet. We'll discuss the details of our arrangement tomorrow. For now, focus on your sister's recovery."

The line went dead, leaving me alone with the weight of what I'd just agreed to. I'd sold my soul to save Jessica's life, and now I would have to live with the consequences.