Chapter 2 - The Wife Who Never Said Yes
When I opened my eyes, I thought I was underwater.
Everything moved slowly.
Sound came through layers.
A rhythmic beeping.
A mechanical hiss.
Someone speaking far away.
Then pain arrived.
It didn’t come from one place.
It was everywhere.
Chest.
Shoulder.
Side.
Arm.
Breathing itself hurt.
I tried to move.
A hand immediately closed around mine.
“Don’t.”
Male.
Low.
Familiar.
My vision sharpened.
Dominic Rossi sat beside my hospital bed.
He looked terrible.
That was my first clear thought.
His black shirt was wrinkled. There was a healing cut beneath one eye. Dark stubble covered his jaw. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the ballroom.
I tried to speak.
Nothing came out.
He reached for water, then stopped when the nurse entered.
“No water yet,” she said.
She checked several monitors before smiling at me.
“You’ve been unconscious for almost two days.”
Two days?
Panic pushed my heart rate higher.
“My mother,” I croaked.
Dominic leaned closer.
“She’s alive.”
Not Isabella.
My mother.
“How—”
“I found out about Ellen.”
I stared at him.
“How?”
His face changed almost imperceptibly.
“I had people identify you.”
Normal explanation.
Maybe.
Except something inside me noticed the pause.
“My phone.”
“Destroyed during the shooting.”
“Cleveland.”
“I spoke with her doctor. She’s safe.”
Anger surfaced through the medication.
“You called my mother?”
“I made sure nobody could reach her.”
“Nobody?”
He didn’t answer directly.
I looked around.
Private hospital room.
Two men in dark suits outside.
Another near the window.
“What is this?”
“Protection.”
“From who?”
“The man who ordered the attack.”
“You know who?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
A strange expression touched his face.
“The police are aware.”
That wasn’t the same thing as calling them.
I shifted my hand.
Something scraped against the blanket.
Gold.
I looked down.
A ring.
Heavy.
Old-fashioned.
Set with a small dark stone.
My heart monitor accelerated.
“What is that?”
Dominic said nothing.
“What is that?”
“A Rossi family ring.”
“Why is it on my hand?”
He leaned back.
“This will sound complicated.”
“You put jewelry on unconscious women often?”
“No.”
“Then explain.”
His gaze met mine.
“I married you.”
Silence.
Even the machines seemed quieter.
I stared at him.
“You what?”
“Symbolically.”
“What does symbolically married mean?”
“In my world, enough.”
“Your world?”
“Costa’s people need to believe attacking you means attacking my family.”
“So you married me?”
“Yes.”
“While I was unconscious?”
“Yes.”
I stared at him for another moment.
Then I started laughing.
It hurt so badly I immediately stopped.
“You’re insane.”
“Possibly.”
“You cannot marry unconscious people.”
“Legally, no.”
“Good.”
“But Victor Costa doesn’t care about state marriage licenses.”
There it was again.
Victor Costa.
“Who is he?”
Dominic’s eyes became colder.
“The man responsible for what happened.”
“Why?”
“He wanted my mother dead.”
“And now he wants me?”
“You survived.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does to him.”
“Why?”
Dominic paused.
“Because you saw the shooter.”
I studied him.
I remembered the ballroom.
The uniform.
The gun.
The man’s face.
Barely.
Something felt wrong.
“Then why not put me in witness protection?”
“Because Costa owns people in places designed to protect witnesses.”
“And I should trust you instead?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
“You shouldn’t trust anyone right now.”
Including him?
Before I could ask, Isabella entered.
She looked exhausted but elegant, dressed in cream.
Her eyes filled with tears when she saw me awake.
She crossed the room and kissed my forehead carefully.
“You foolish, beautiful girl.”
I blinked.
“You’re okay?”
“Because of you.”
“I didn’t really think.”
“Sometimes that’s when people reveal who they truly are.”
She took my free hand.
“I owe you my life.”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“My son apparently disagrees.”
Dominic exhaled.
“Mother.”
She looked at my ring.
“I told him protection did not require turning your hospital room into a wedding chapel.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“But he inherited stubbornness from his father.”
Dominic looked at her.
“You were the stubborn one.”
“Your father is dead, so I can blame him.”
I smiled.
For a moment, the room felt almost normal.
Then Enzo entered carrying a sealed envelope.
He looked at Dominic.
“We found this downstairs.”
Dominic’s expression changed.
“Where?”
“Reception. No camera caught who left it.”
My stomach tightened.
Enzo handed him the envelope.
My name was written across the front.
CLARA BENNETT.
“Give it to me.”
Dominic didn’t move.
“It’s addressed to me.”
“It could contain something dangerous.”
“Then open it.”
He did.
Inside was a photograph.
The hospital photograph.
Dominic beside my bed.
My ring visible.
On the back were two words.
Ask Ellen.
My skin went cold.
“My mother?”
Dominic took the photograph before I could read more.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You recognized it.”
“No.”
“You did.”
Isabella looked at her son.
“Dominic?”
He stood.
“Enzo.”
Enzo nodded.
Both men left.
I looked at Isabella.
“Do you know what’s happening?”
Her expression told me she didn’t.
That frightened me more.
Dominic Rossi’s mother might not know his secrets.
But Dominic definitely had them.
That evening, I insisted on calling my mother.
Dominic resisted.
I threatened to pull out my own IV.
He handed me the phone.
Ellen answered on the fourth ring.
“Clara?”
Her voice broke.
“Mom.”
She started crying.
So did I.
For several minutes, nothing else mattered.
Then I remembered the photograph.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do you know someone named Dominic Rossi?”
Silence.
Complete silence.
I sat straighter despite the pain.
“Mom?”
“Why are you asking?”
“He’s here.”
Another silence.
Longer.
“Clara, listen to me carefully.”
Something cold moved through me.
“Okay.”
“You need to leave that hospital.”
“What?”
“Leave New York.”
“Mom—”
“Do not stay near Dominic Rossi.”
I looked through the glass wall.
Dominic stood in the corridor speaking with Enzo.
He turned.
Our eyes met.
“Why?”
My mother was crying again.
“Because his family and ours should never have crossed paths.”
“Ours?”
“I should have told you years ago.”
My grip tightened around the phone.
“Told me what?”
Before she could answer, the line went dead.
I pulled the phone away.
No signal.
Then the hospital lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Everything went dark.
Emergency lights turned red.
Someone shouted in the corridor.
Dominic burst through the door.
“Get down!”
Gunfire exploded somewhere outside the private wing.
Again.
They had come to finish me.
Dominic pulled a handgun and positioned himself between my bed and the door.
Enzo shouted orders.
The emergency lights painted the room blood-red.
And then something impossible happened.
A man in medical scrubs emerged from the bathroom behind me.
He pressed a gun toward my head.
Dominic froze.
The attacker smiled.
“Victor sends his congratulations on the wedding.”
His finger tightened.
Before he could fire, Isabella struck him across the arm with a metal IV pole.
The shot shattered a window.
Dominic fired once.
The attacker collapsed.
Chaos followed.
Security rushed in.
Nurses screamed.
Dominic came to my bed.
“Are you hit?”
I shook my head.
He touched my face gently.
For one second, relief overwhelmed everything else.
Then I remembered my mother’s words.
I pushed his hand away.
“What did you do to my family?”
He went still.
“Clara—”
“My mother knows you.”
He didn’t deny it.
“She said your family and ours should never have crossed paths.”
Isabella stared at him.
“What is she talking about?”
Dominic looked from his mother to me.
Then to the dead attacker.
Finally he said, “We have to move Clara.”
“No.”
“Tonight.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me the truth.”
His jaw tightened.
“The truth will get you killed.”
“I’m already getting shot at!”
He closed his eyes.
Then looked at me.
“Your mother’s maiden name wasn’t Bennett.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“It was Costa.”
Nobody moved.
I stared at him.
“No.”
Dominic continued quietly.
“Ellen Costa was Victor Costa’s younger sister.”
The name struck harder than any bullet.
I shook my head.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
“My mother doesn’t have a brother.”
“She does.”
“Why would she hide that?”
“Because twenty-seven years ago she disappeared from that family.”
“Why?”
Dominic’s face tightened.
“That is the part I was afraid you’d discover.”
I looked at him.
“What part?”
Before he could answer, Enzo returned holding a phone.
His face had gone pale.
“Dominic.”
“What?”
“It’s Cleveland.”
My stomach dropped.
Enzo looked at me.
“The treatment center was attacked.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“My mother?”
“They took her.”
The room tilted.
Dominic caught my shoulder.
I screamed at him to let go.
Enzo continued.
“There was one message left behind.”
“What message?” Dominic asked.
Enzo looked directly at me.
“Victor says Clara has forty-eight hours to come home.”
Home.
Not meet him.
Not surrender.
Come home.
And suddenly I understood something terrifying.
Victor Costa didn’t want to kill me anymore.
May you like
He wanted me back.
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