Chapter 3
Isabella
I clutched a community map, my eyes fixed on one marked location—Dr. Massimo's clinic.
"Maria, are you sure it's safe there?" I whispered to the silver-haired woman beside me.
Maria nodded. "Go to Dr. Massimo, he's a good man, and..." She paused meaningfully, "it's very safe there. The Salvatore men all get their care there."
My chest tightened. That meant Vincent might show up there too.
"But," Maria looked at me with concern and said, "you're too vulnerable alone with the baby. You need a man's protection."
I scanned the area and spotted Rico, the neighborhood slacker, smoking on the corner. A bold plan flashed through my mind.
"You want me to do what?" Rico stared in disbelief, his cigarette nearly dropping from his lips.
I pulled out five hundred-dollar bills, waving them in front of him: "I need you to play my husband, just a few hours. I'll pay you $500."
Rico's eyes lit up immediately, but confusion followed: "Why do you need a fake husband? You're not ugly or anything."
"To protect our safety." I stuffed the bills into his hand. "Remember, your name is Sean O'Connor, we just got married. At the clinic, don't touch me except to shake hands."
Rico counted the money, grinning: "Deal! But lady, what kind of trouble are you in?"
I didn't answer, just headed toward the clinic. Rico hurried after me, thinking this was the easiest $500 he'd ever made.
Dr. Massimo's clinic waiting room carried the gentle scent of lavender. I sat in a corner chair, nervously awaiting my prenatal checkup.
Rico sat uncomfortably beside me, constantly looking around: "This place looks pretty fancy."
"Keep quiet," I warned in a low voice. "Remember your identity."
Just then, the clinic door opened.
A tall figure entered, head wrapped in white bandages. My heart stopped beating.
Vincent Salvatore.
His brown eyes swept the waiting room and suddenly froze when they landed on me. I could see something stir deep within him—a pull he couldn't explain. I seemed to radiate a warmth that drew him like a magnet.
Even with my obvious pregnancy, I could sense there was something about me that made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar emotion.
I felt him staring, unable to look away.
He approached slowly, each step deliberate. "Excuse me," his voice was gentler than expected, "I couldn't help but notice... are you here for a check-up?"
My heart raced. This was dangerous territory. "Yes," I replied softly, "just a routine prenatal visit."
Then Vincent's gaze shifted to the nervous man beside me, and confusion clouded his features. "And you are...?"
Rico cleared his throat nervously: "I'm Sean. Sean O'Connor. This is my wife."
"O'Connor?" Vincent repeated, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You're Sean O'Connor?"
I watched the warmth in his eyes transform into something cold and calculating, but when his gaze fell back on me, conflict warred across his features.
That afternoon in the clinic's small garden, I sat on a bench when Vincent approached.
"Mind if I sit?" His voice was surprisingly soft.
I nodded, alarm bells ringing in my mind. This was the first time I'd had a real, personal conversation with Vincent since his memory loss.
Vincent settled beside me, maintaining respectful distance. "I hope I didn't frighten you earlier. It's just..." He paused, struggling with words. "Something about seeing you made me feel... protective. I can't explain it."
My heart skipped. "You barely know me."
"That's what's strange," Vincent admitted, his brown eyes searching my face. "I feel like I should know you. Like you're important somehow."
Even with amnesia, some part of him still recognized our connection.
"Your husband," Vincent continued carefully, "how does he treat you?"
I suddenly felt the itch to mess with him a little.
I deliberately let my voice carry vulnerability: "He's not... he's not cruel. But he drinks sometimes, and when business is stressful..." I trailed off, looking down at my hands.
Vincent's fist clenched slowly. "Has he ever hurt you?"
"Not physically," I whispered, playing my role perfectly. "But when he raises his voice... I get scared. Especially now with the baby."
The pain in Vincent's eyes was genuine. "No woman should live in fear. Especially not someone like you."
I asked, "Someone like me?"
Vincent's voice was barely above a whisper: "Beautiful. Gentle. Carrying new life." He looked directly at me. "If you ever need help—if you ever feel unsafe—you come to me. Do you understand?"
I nodded, then quickly looked away, fidgeting with my hands. "I... I should probably get back to Rico. He'll be wondering where I am."
I started to rise from the bench, clearly trying to escape the intensity of Vincent's gaze.
Being this close to Vincent—seeing the genuine concern in his eyes—was tearing at defenses I'd carefully built.
"Wait," Vincent said gently, not moving to stop me but his voice carrying a quiet urgency. "You don't have to be afraid of me."
Vincent stood slowly, keeping his distance. "I don't want anything from you. I just..." He struggled with words. "I can't explain it, but seeing you upset about your husband—it bothers me."
I wrapped my arms around myself protectively. "That's not your concern."
"I have to go," I whispered.
I turned and nearly ran back toward the clinic, leaving Vincent standing alone in the garden, more confused than ever about why a stranger's pain affected him so deeply.
In a black sedan, Tony's man Marco observed through binoculars: "Boss, that woman appeared as expected. And Vincent... he seemed almost protective of her."
"Interesting," Tony mused. "Keep watching. This could be useful."
As night fell, I returned to my apartment, emotions churning.
Vincent's protective instincts had exceeded all my expectations. Even believing I was married to his enemy, he'd been willing to defend me.
But that made my situation infinitely more complicated.
I caressed my belly, whispering: "Baby, I think your daddy might remember us after all—just not the way I expected."