Chapter 58: Secrets
"Wha–what’s..." Maria gasped, her voice trembling as her eyes widened in confusion. Her breathing came in short, ragged bursts as she tried to move, only for Elisa to quickly wheel herself closer, placing both hands gently on Maria’s shoulders to steady her.
"Easy, easy," Elisa whispered, her voice soft but urgent, doing her best to calm her down.
Luca had already risen from his seat, the sound of his chair scraping faintly across the tiled floor. His face was pale, tense, the kind of expression that betrayed both worry and suppressed frustration. Dora, on the other hand, merely sat up straighter, her eyes fixed on Maria but without making a move to rise. Her hands rested in her lap, still and composed, though a storm of unease quietly rippled beneath her calm exterior.
Maria’s chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at the room in dazed confusion. Her gaze darted from wall to wall, her lips parting like she was trying to find words that wouldn’t come. Then, slowly, clarity began to creep back into her eyes—and what followed made Dora’s stomach twist.
Maria’s entire body began to tremble. Her lower lip quivered as her eyes welled with tears. She blinked rapidly, looking around again as if the room itself was foreign, as if she’d woken in a nightmare she couldn’t comprehend.
Then, her gaze dropped—down to the space where her right leg should have been.
The moment she saw the thick white bandages wrapped around her thigh, everything inside her seemed to collapse. Her face contorted in disbelief, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly before a choked sob tore from her throat.
Her shoulders shook violently as tears began to fall in thick, uncontrollable streams down her cheeks. She tried to speak, but her voice kept breaking, dissolving into incoherent gasps as her trembling fingers reached for the bandaged stump, pressing lightly against the cloth as though she could somehow feel her missing limb.
"Maria—" Elisa began, her own voice cracking slightly as she hesitated, searching for the right words, her expression pained. "You—we..." she stuttered, trying again, "You were attacked."
Maria’s tear-filled eyes snapped up to meet hers, her face pale and wet with grief. She looked like someone whose world had just been ripped away, her mind refusing to accept what her body already knew.
"You were immediately brought here—" Elisa continued, but she didn’t get the chance to finish.
"My—my leg!" Maria screamed suddenly, her voice raw and hoarse. The sound tore through the room like glass shattering. Her body convulsed as she clutched at the sheets, her face twisting in horror. "Where’s my leg!"
"Maria, listen," Elisa said quickly, panic flickering in her voice. "We’ve already begun arrangements for a prosthetic. You’ll be fine, you just need—"
But Maria wasn’t listening anymore. Her breathing turned erratic, her sobs sharp and hysterical as she ripped at the IV lines in her arm. The needles tore free, blood dotting her skin as she struggled to pull herself upright.
"Maria, stop!" Elisa yelled, but the woman was beyond reason. She thrashed weakly, her body trembling from the strain, every movement wild and desperate.
Luca stepped forward then, his voice raised for the first time since she’d woken. "Maria, relax!" he shouted, his tone firm but heavy with exhaustion.
He could barely stand to look at her—the woman he once thought he knew—without remembering what he had seen before her abduction. Her body pressed against another man’s, her lips on his. That memory stung like acid. But now wasn’t the time for it. She was broken enough as it was.
"Maria," he said again, forcing his voice into something gentler as he reached for her shoulders. "You’ll be fine, do you hear me? You just need to heal first. Mr. Bellini is already doing everything he can to find the people who did this to you."
But Maria wasn’t hearing him. Her sobs came harder, deeper, until they turned into screams—raw, guttural cries that echoed through the sterile walls. Her face was blotched red, her hair clinging to her damp skin as she gasped for breath.
Dora sat unmoving through it all. She knew she should rise, do something—say something—but she couldn’t. Her body refused to move. She knew anything she said would only make it worse.
And then Maria’s gaze shifted.
It locked onto her.
"Dora!" she screamed suddenly, her voice cracking as she pointed a trembling hand toward her. "It’s her fault!"
The words struck like a slap. Dora froze, her lips parting slightly, but no words came out.
"It’s all her fault!" Maria shouted again, louder this time. Her voice tore at her throat as she struggled against Elisa’s grip, her face contorted in fury.
"If you hadn’t pissed Don Tiberio off, I wouldn’t have lost my leg!" she shrieked, her voice trembling with grief and venom. "If not for you—if not for you—!"
Her words grew louder, more frantic, as she began to sob and scream all at once. "I wish you were dead! I wish you were dead!" she spat, the sound raw and trembling with hatred.
Luca’s jaw clenched, his hands tightening into fists at his sides.
"I wish you had died along with your mo—"
The vowel hadn’t even finished leaving her mouth when Luca snapped.
In one sudden movement, he lunged forward, his face twisted in fury, his hands clamping down over Maria’s mouth.
"Shut up!" he roared, his voice a mix of rage and disbelief as he leaned over her. "What the hell are you trying to say!"
For a moment, Dora couldn’t move—couldn’t even breathe. Her chair scraped back sharply as she rose to her feet, staring wide-eyed at the sight before her.
Luca—her father—was a man she’d never seen lose control. He had always been composed, cold even, but never like this. His expression now was wretched, unrecognizable, his eyes bloodshot and wild with emotion.
Maria’s muffled screams continued under his palm, her eyes wide and terrified, tears streaming down her temples.
"Shut up!" Luca shouted again, his voice breaking. "Do you even hear yourself?"
His body shook violently, every muscle tense as if holding himself back from something worse. Dora could see the veins in his neck straining, the sheer effort it took to keep himself in check. The image of Maria with another man—his wife betraying him just hours before being taken—flashed across his mind again, fueling the fury that burned behind his eyes.
He held her there until her voice finally broke, until the fight drained out of her body and her trembling subsided. Only then did he let go, stepping back from the bed with his chest heaving.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of the two of them—the shattered couple—one consumed by pain, the other by anger.
Maria turned her face away, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. Her eyes glistened, her jaw tight as she rolled weakly onto her side. The bandages on her leg shifted slightly as she moved, the reminder of her loss visible in every labored breath.
Dora stood silently by her chair, still processing everything she’d seen. Her hands trembled faintly at her sides. She’d always known her father’s temper—but never like this.
Elisa glanced between the two, her face pale, her expression grim as she placed a hand over her mouth to stifle the sob that threatened to escape.
Maria didn’t say another word. Her anger had dimmed to quiet, seething hatred, her swollen eyes fixed on Dora with a look that could burn through steel.
And Dora—who had thought she’d already reached her limit of guilt—realized in that moment that Maria would never forgive her.
Not for what happened.
Not for the leg.
And for being the one still uninjured.
