Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 57

Aria’s POV

The realization hit me like a cold wave as I lay in the rumpled sheets, watching Damian disappear into the bathroom with that infuriatingly controlled stride. My birthday was coming up too. In just three days, I would turn twenty-one—a milestone that should have meant freedom, celebration, the beginning of true adulthood.

Instead, I would spend it as a contracted surrogate in a gilded cage, while Damian escorted Adriana Montrosso to her lavish birthday gala.

The contrast couldn't have been more stark, and it stirred something rebellious in my chest. A desperate need to reclaim some piece of myself, some fragment of the life I'd traded away for Jessica's medical bills.

Memory flooded back—birthdays at Sant'Anna Orphanage, where celebrations were simple but heartfelt. Sister Mary would gather all the children for a small cake and a song, but it was Jessica who made those days special. Every year, she would sneak into my room after lights-out with something she'd made or saved—a drawing, a flower picked from the courtyard, once even a small chocolate she'd hidden from her own dinner.

"Happy birthday, sister," she would whisper, pressing her modest gift into my hands with the solemnity of someone bestowing great treasure. "I hope all your wishes come true."

Those memories made my chest ache with longing. This year, my twenty-first birthday, Jessica was finally healthy enough to celebrate with me properly. We could share cake and laughter without the specter of her illness hovering over us. We could make new memories to replace the shadow of all those years when I wasn't sure she'd live to see another birthday.

But instead, I would be locked away in this estate while Damian played escort to the woman who'd tried to drown me.

The injustice of it ignited something fierce and reckless in my chest. If Damian could attend social functions when it suited his business interests, if he could leave me here alone while he danced with Adriana Montrosso, then surely I could find a few hours to visit my sister on my birthday.

I spent the next two days observing the household routines with new purpose. Jennifer typically made trips into Florence twice a week for specialty groceries and household supplies. The security guards changed shifts every six hours, with a brief window of transition where attention might be divided. The estate's delivery entrance was less monitored than the main gates, especially during the afternoon when most staff were occupied with indoor duties.

It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was possible. Risky, potentially catastrophic if I was caught, but possible.

The morning of my birthday arrived gray and drizzling, matching my mood as I watched Damian prepare for his evening with Adriana. He stood before the bathroom mirror adjusting his bow tie with mechanical precision, every inch the sophisticated gentleman about to escort a socialite to her celebration.

"I'll be late tonight," he said without looking at me, his tone businesslike. "Don't wait up."

"Of course," I replied, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "Have a pleasant evening."

He paused in the doorway, something flickering across his features that might have been uncertainty. For a moment, I thought he might say something more.

But instead, he simply nodded and left, the sound of his expensive shoes echoing down the marble corridor like a countdown to my freedom.

Two hours later, I watched from the guest bedroom window as Jennifer's small sedan disappeared down the winding driveway, heading into Florence for her weekly shopping expedition. She'd mentioned needing specialty ingredients for a dinner party the following week, which meant she'd be gone for at least three hours—plenty of time for my own expedition.

My hands shook slightly as I gathered my things: enough cash for taxi fare, my identification, and the small wrapped gift I'd prepared for Jessica.

My heart pounded as I slipped through the service corridors and out into the misty afternoon air. Every step away from the villa felt like a small victory and a massive risk. If Damian discovered my absence, if security realized I'd breached his carefully constructed containment...

But Jessica was waiting, and it was my birthday.

The familiar antiseptic smell of Sant'Anna Hospital wrapped around me like a homecoming as I made my way through the corridors toward Jessica's room. She was scheduled for physical therapy this afternoon—another milestone in her recovery that I wanted to witness firsthand.

But as I rounded the corner toward her wing, I nearly collided with a familiar figure moving slowly with the aid of an elegant walking stick.

Antonio Montrosso looked as distinguished as ever despite his obvious discomfort from his injured leg. His silver hair was perfectly styled, his clothes impeccable even for a hospital visit. But there was something different about his expression when he saw me—surprise mixed with genuine pleasure.

"Miss Rossi!" His weathered face broke into a warm smile. "What a delightful surprise. I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"Signor Montrosso," I replied, hoping my voice didn't betray my nervousness. "I'm just visiting my sister. I didn't know you had... that is, are you here to see someone as well?"

"I make regular visits to the pediatric ward," he said gently. "There are children here whose families can't provide certain comforts, and I find great satisfaction in bringing small gifts, reading stories. Nothing elaborate—just an old man's way of giving back."

The explanation made my chest warm with unexpected affection. Here was one of Florence's most powerful crime lords, spending his afternoons reading to sick children. It was impossible to reconcile the gentle man before me with the dangerous reputation that surrounded the Montrosso name.

"That's very kind of you," I said sincerely.

His perceptive eyes studied my face with growing concern. "Are you quite alright, my dear? You seem... subdued. Is your sister's condition—?"

"Oh no, Jessica is doing wonderfully," I said quickly. "The treatment has been miraculous. She's stronger every day."

"I'm glad to hear it." But his expression remained troubled. "Forgive me for observing, but there's a sadness in your eyes that has nothing to do with medical concerns. Are you being properly cared for in your new position?"

The question caught me off guard. How could I explain that I was being cared for magnificently—fed the finest food, dressed in expensive clothes, provided with every material comfort—while feeling more isolated and trapped than I ever had in poverty?

"I'm fine," I said, but the words sounded hollow even to my own ears.

Antonio's keen eyes missed nothing. He reached out and gently patted my hand with paternal warmth. "Today is your birthday, isn't it?"

I stared at him in shock. How could he possibly know that?

"I have a good memory for such things," he said with a kind smile.

"Yes," I whispered. "Twenty-one today."

"Twenty-one! A momentous birthday indeed." His expression brightened with genuine joy. "This calls for celebration. Have you had cake? Every birthday requires proper cake, my dear."

"Oh, that's not necessary—"

"Nonsense!" Antonio's tone brooked no argument. "I was just heading to collect a special order from Florence's finest bakery. My granddaughter's birthday celebration is tonight, and I always personally inspect the confections. But surely we can find something suitable for your celebration as well."

Before I could protest further, he was guiding me gently toward the hospital exit with the kind of paternal authority that made refusal seem impossible.

"I really shouldn't," I tried one more time. "I need to get back soon, and I don't want to impose—"

"My dear child, it would be my absolute pleasure. Besides, no young woman should spend her twenty-first birthday alone in a hospital corridor. Come, let us find you something sweet to mark this special day."

Twenty minutes later, I found myself standing outside an elegant bakery in Florence's upscale shopping district, watching Antonio inspect elaborate confections with the discerning eye of someone accustomed to perfection. The smells of sugar and vanilla filled the air, making my mouth water despite my nerves about being so far from the estate.

"Now this," Antonio said, indicating a beautiful small cake decorated with delicate sugar flowers, "would be perfect for a young lady's milestone birthday. What do you think?"

Before I could answer, movement in the shop window next door caught my attention. Through the glass of what appeared to be an exclusive men's clothing boutique, I caught a glimpse of two familiar figures.

Damian stood near a display of formal wear, his dark hair unmistakable even from behind. But it was the woman beside him that made my blood run cold.

Adriana Montrosso, resplendent in a cream-colored dress that probably cost more than most people's cars, was laughing at something he'd said. Her hand rested possessively on his arm as she gestured toward various clothing options with animated enthusiasm.

They looked perfect together—two beautiful, powerful people from the same sophisticated world, sharing private jokes and easy intimacy. Everything I could never be to him.

Panic flooded through me as I realized the danger I was in. If Damian turned around, if he saw me here when I was supposed to be safely contained at his estate...

I ducked behind Antonio without thinking, pressing myself against his back like a child hiding from playground bullies.

"My dear?" Antonio's voice carried gentle confusion. "Is everything alright?"

Through the shop window, I watched Adriana lean closer to Damian, her fingers trailing along his lapel with obvious familiarity. He didn't pull away, didn't maintain the cold distance I'd grown accustomed to. Instead, he seemed relaxed, even amused by her attention.

"Do you know him?" Antonio asked quietly, following my terrified gaze to where Damian stood with his granddaughter. "That young man—do you and Damian Cavalieri know each other?"