Chapter 4: Ashes Without Fire

Mariella's POV 

“Keep everything that happened last night between us.”

I sat on my bed with my eyes glued to the door where Luciano had just walked out. He had gone frozen cold when I told him we did have sex last night. I doubt he remembered anything, but he didn't seem too pleased about it. And he made sure I swore to keep my lips sealed.

Or else, death.

It wasn't something to be proud of anyway. If anything, I wanted to forget that it ever happened. Besides, it wasn't technically my fault that we both took those pills. Why would anyone put such things in a first aid kit in the first place?

I tried to forget that last night had ever happened. I scrubbed my body raw in the bathroom, whispering prayers for forgiveness until I could finally go to confession. I feared what would await me when I returned to the convent—what they would say if they knew I had broken the vows I was meant to keep.

Or maybe I shouldn’t return at all.

**************

Weeks passed after that disastrous night—the one that left me drowning in guilt and convinced I had fallen from grace. I threw myself into work, harder than ever, desperate to bury the memory. I barely saw Luciano, something I was grateful for, because whenever I did, flashes of what had happened between us rose unbidden in my mind. And as shameful as it felt, a part of me still longed for it.

“He doesn't even remember what happened,” I muttered to myself as I cleaned the kitchen, a melancholic feeling settling in my chest at the thought. 

When I was done, I turned to leave when I suddenly wobbled, my vision blurring for a minute, and I had to grab the counter edges for support. Only when I felt better did I let go.

However, as soon as I got to my room, I rushed to the bathroom like I was being chased and threw up everything I had eaten all day. I coughed violently until my stomach was empty and I was extremely weak.

One thing I hated was falling sick, and I was sure I wouldn't get a day off even if I asked for one anyway. How did I even fall sick all of a sudden?

I trudged back to my room, exhaustion weighing heavily on me, and collapsed onto the bed. Sleep claimed me almost immediately.

When I opened my eyes, the feeling was worse than before. I literally flew to the toilet this time, gagging in pain because I barely ate anything after I threw up the first time. 

“Am I already suffering for my sins?” I whispered, wiping my mouth as a cold realization settled over me.

I hadn't seen my period in over a month now. I was over three weeks late. Unusual tiredness. Throwing up, obvious signs of morning sickness. 

Oh, no. This can’t be real.

There had to be another explanation. Stress. Fear. God knew how little I’d been sleeping.

But the truth pressed in all the same, heavy and merciless.

There was no doubt, I was indeed suffering for the punishment of my sins.

Could I be… pregnant?

A strangled sob tore from my chest as my knees gave out, my back hitting the wall as I slid to the floor. I wrapped my arms around myself, shaking, as panic clawed its way through me. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“Why me? Why…?” I whispered to myself, wiping away the tears that fell in torrents.

And yet, beneath the terror, a single, unwavering truth anchored me: if I truly was pregnant, I could not—would not—take the life I carried. No matter how it came to be, no matter how dangerous or unwanted, ending a child’s life was unthinkable. My faith would not allow it.

But knowing a man like Luciano, he would absolutely tell me to get rid of the child. He dealt in blood and death for a living. I wasn’t sure a child would make any difference.

But I had to tell him. If he killed me after that, I would answer for my sins in heaven. If he asked me to get rid of it, I would run away. Either way, I'm not killing my child— illegitimate or not— with my own hands.

Struggling to get on my feet, I took multiple breaths and forced my legs to move forward. Out of my room and all the way to the forbidden room. I could be killed before even getting into his room, but at this point, there was nothing to lose.

Surprisingly, I made it to his room without being stopped or killed. I knocked once. Then waited. My vision blurred once again, and I ended up stumbling forward. Just then, the door opened, and I stumbled right into his arms.

He caught me, his brows furrowing in confusion, but when he recognized me, he let go immediately, and I fell. Hard. How gentlemanly of him.

“What are you doing here?”

“There's something important I need to tell you—”

“Are you quitting? Did you find a traitor, or are you one?” He interrupted my words coldly, and I blinked in confusion before shaking my head in negation.

“No… No, it's nothing like that. It's just—”

“Then it's not important. Leave. And don't try this stunt again.” He ordered, returning to his bed, and I couldn't believe my ears for a moment. 

He didn't even try to hear me out.

“Do you want me to repeat myself?”

His voice was cold this time as he glanced up at me, but I didn't move. Neither did I speak. I was too stunned to say a word. He suddenly moved toward me and grabbed my arm, a look of annoyance on his face as he gripped my chin harshly.

“Just because a stupid mistake happened between us doesn't mean I'll treat you any differently from the others. Don't make me punish you—”

“That stupid mistake is also costing me something,” I blurted out, interrupting him before I could stop myself. The words spilled out on their own, reckless and unguarded.

You really think I wanted what happened that night to happen?” My voice shook, but I forced myself to keep going, even as my heart hammered violently in my chest. I had no idea where the courage came from, or if it was courage at all, or sheer terror. Was this how I died? By daring to speak back to a man like him?

“If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t even be here,” I said, my hands trembling at my sides. “But guess what? I am. And it’s because I’m pregnant.”

Silence filled the room as soon as those words left my lips, and he stared at me for a moment, his expression frozen. I didn't know what he was thinking or planning. If I were in trouble or if I were safe.

He suddenly reached for his phone and dialed a number that had my palms sweating in nervousness.

“Dante, get the doctor here in five minutes. I don't care how.” He ordered and ended the call before turning to me with an expression that had me flinching in fear.

“If I find out that you're lying about this, you don't want to know what I will do to you.”

Christ, I wasn't even sure I was truly pregnant. What if it was a false alarm?