Mafia's Surrogate Bride Chapter 69

Aria’s POV

I woke to cold sheets and emptiness.

The space beside me where Damian had slept was cool to the touch.

He left without a word. The realization shouldn't have stung as much as it did. After all, what had I expected? That he'd wait around to discuss last night's events over coffee and pastries like some normal couple?

I pulled the silk sheets closer around myself, trying to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. The events in the warehouse felt like a nightmare now—the ropes, the blood, the terror of thinking I was going to die. But it had been real. Every terrifying minute of it.

And Damian had come for me. Had killed for me.

But I'm still just a possession to him, I reminded myself. Property to be protected.

A soft knock on the door interrupted my brooding thoughts.

"Miss Aria?" Jennifer's warm voice called through the wood. "May I come in? I've brought some breakfast."

"Of course," I called back, quickly pulling on one of the silk robes that had been provided.

Jennifer entered carrying a silver tray that smelled like heaven—fresh coffee, warm pastries, and something that made my stomach clench with hunger despite my emotional turmoil. But when her eyes met mine, her maternal smile immediately shifted to concern.

"Oh, bambina," she murmured, setting the tray on the bedside table and moving closer. "You look terrible. Your face is so pale, and there are shadows under your eyes like you haven't slept in days."

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room and winced. She was right—I looked like death warmed over. My skin had a grayish pallor, my hair was a tangled mess, and there was something hollow in my eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I'm fine," I lied, accepting the cup of coffee she pressed into my hands. The warmth felt good against my cold fingers.

"Fine? You look like you've been through hell and back. What happened last night? You came home covered in blood, looking like you'd seen a ghost."

The memory of the warehouse, of Vito's hands on me, of the gunshots and blood, crashed over me again. I closed my eyes, trying to push it away.

"I don't want to worry you," I said, deflecting as smoothly as I could manage. "What's for breakfast? It smells amazing."

Jennifer's eyes narrowed slightly—she clearly wasn't buying my attempt to change the subject—but she played along. "I made your favorite herb-crusted eggs with fresh bread from the village bakery. And there's fruit from our own orchard, still warm from the morning sun."

She began setting out the food with practiced efficiency, but I could feel her stealing concerned glances at me. "There's also fresh orange juice and some of that honey you liked so much last week."

The food did look incredible, but my stomach was tied in knots. Still, I forced myself to take a bite of the eggs, knowing Jennifer would fuss if I didn't eat.

"This is delicious," I said, and it was. But everything tasted like ash in my mouth.

After a few minutes of watching me pick at the food, I remembered something. "Jennifer, wasn't there supposed to be a doctor coming today? For my regular checkup?"

Jennifer paused in arranging the fruit on my plate. "Yes, Dr. Rosetti was scheduled for this morning. But Mr. Cavalieri called early and canceled the appointment."

"Canceled?" I looked up from my barely touched breakfast. "Why?"

"He said to reschedule for when he returns. He wants to be present for all medical consultations moving forward."

"Returns from where?" I asked, though part of me already dreaded the answer.

Jennifer hesitated, suddenly very interested in straightening the already perfect breakfast tray. "Well... I shouldn't really say..."

"Jennifer."

She sighed, the way she always did when she was about to reveal something she probably shouldn't. "I may have overheard him speaking with Lorenzo this morning. He mentioned something about meeting with the Montrosso granddaughter."

My coffee cup clattered against the saucer as I set it down too hard. "Meeting with her?"

"Well... He specifically said it was a date. With the little princess."

A date.

The words hit me like a physical blow. While I'd been lying in bed processing the trauma of nearly being murdered, Damian had been planning a romantic evening with Adriana Montrosso. The same Adriana who'd—

But he didn't know it was Adriana who'd orchestrated my kidnapping. To him, she was still the perfect princess, the suitable match everyone expected him to choose.

"That girl," Jennifer continued, clearly warming to the subject now that she'd started talking. "I don't like her one bit. She's nothing like what a Montrosso granddaughter should be. Nothing like her mother was."

I forced myself to take another bite of eggs, though they might as well have been cardboard. "What do you mean?"

"Isabella Montrosso was a true lady—gracious, kind, elegant in every way. She had warmth, you know? When she smiled, it reached her eyes." Jennifer shook her head disapprovingly. "This Adriana... there's something cold about her. Something calculating. She's not worthy of the Montrosso name."

"Mmm," I managed, not trusting myself to say more.

"Now you," Jennifer continued, her voice taking on that fond tone she used when she was about to embarrass me with compliments, "you have the bearing of a true princess. The way you carry yourself, the grace in your movements, the kindness in your heart. You're what a lady should be."

I nearly choked on my orange juice. "Jennifer, I'm hardly—"

"Especially your eyes," she interrupted, moving closer to study my face with the intensity of an art appraiser. "Those beautiful amber eyes. So unusual, so striking. They remind me of someone..."

She trailed off, her brow furrowing as if trying to place a memory.

"You know," she said slowly, "you have the exact same eyes as old Mr. Montrosso. And your eyebrows, the arch of them... it's like looking at a feminine version of his features."

I barely heard the rest of her observations. My mind had stopped processing anything beyond those first devastating words.

He's on a date with the Montrosso princess.

Everything else faded into white noise. Jennifer's voice became a distant buzz as that single fact consumed my thoughts entirely. While I sat here, traumatized and hollow, he was somewhere else. With her. Taking her to dinner, probably, or some elegant venue where they could discuss their families' alliance and their potential future together.

Had he kissed her goodnight? Was he already planning their next meeting?

The rational part of my mind knew I had no right to feel betrayed. Our arrangement was business, nothing more. He'd made that perfectly clear multiple times. I was the surrogate, the temporary vessel for his heir. She was the woman he would actually marry, the one who would stand beside him as his equal.

But logic did nothing to ease the sharp pain that sliced through my chest, or the way my hands trembled as I set down my coffee cup.

Just business, I reminded myself. You're just business to him.

So why did it feel like my heart was breaking?

"Are you listening, dear?" Jennifer's voice cut through my spiral of misery.

"Sorry, what?"

"I was saying how much you favor the Montrosso bloodline. It's really quite striking when you see the resemblance. If I didn't know better, I'd think you had some connection to that family."

She laughed at her own observation, as if the idea was absurd.

I forced a smile. "That's... interesting."

But I wasn't really listening anymore. My mind kept returning to the same devastating image: Damian, elegant in one of his perfectly tailored suits, sitting across from Adriana at some exclusive restaurant. Her hand on his arm, her laugh like silver bells, her perfect blonde hair catching the candlelight.

Everything I could never be.

Everything I would never have.

"I should let you finish breakfast in peace," Jennifer said, apparently taking my silence for fatigue. "You still look exhausted, bambina. Try to get some rest today."

After she left, I sat alone with the elaborate breakfast spread, my appetite completely gone.

And somewhere in the city, he was with the woman who would actually matter to him.

The woman who would become his wife.