CHAPTER 3 - TRUTH

"What truth?" I asked, leaning forward against my seatbelt. My heart hammered against my ribs. "Marco, what do you mean by that?"

Marco gripped the steering wheel tighter. His knuckles turned white under the streetlights flashing through the windshield. He kept his eyes locked on the road ahead.

"Forget I said anything," Marco replied. His voice was tense. "I stepped out of line. It is not my place to discuss Raphael's decisions."

"You cannot say something like that and just tell me to forget it," I pushed back. I reached out and grabbed his shoulder from the back seat. "You said there is a reason he married me. What is the reason?"

Marco shrugged my hand off. He did not do it with malice, but the rejection was clear. He slowed the car down as we approached the tall, illuminated building of the Bellini Medical Center.

"Mrs. Bellini, please," Marco said quietly. "We are here. Just focus on your procedure tonight."

I sat back in my seat. Frustration built in my throat. Marco was the only person in the house who ever showed me an ounce of kindness, and now he was shutting me out too. I looked out the window as the town car pulled into the private underground parking garage. The heavy concrete walls closed in around us.

The car stopped in front of the VIP elevator bank. Two nurses in crisp blue scrubs were already waiting by the glass doors. They held a clipboard and a wheelchair.

Marco got out of the car and opened my door. I grabbed my small duffel bag and stepped onto the concrete floor. The air down here was cold. I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Welcome, Mrs. Bellini," the older nurse said. She did not smile. She patted the seat of the wheelchair.

"Please have a seat. We need to take you up to the prep ward immediately."

"I can walk," I told her.

"Hospital policy," the nurse insisted. She gestured to the chair again.

I sat down. Marco handed my duffel bag to the second nurse. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

"I will wait in the lobby," Marco told the nurses. He did not look me in the eyes. He turned around and walked back toward the parked car.

The nurses wheeled me into the elevator. The ride up to the seventh floor was silent. When the doors opened, the stark white lights of the surgical prep wing blinded me for a second. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose.

They pushed me down a long, quiet hallway. We passed several open doors. I glanced inside one of the rooms and saw Gabriella.

She was lying in a large, plush hospital bed. The room looked more like a hotel suite than a medical facility.

Vases of fresh pink peonies covered the tables. Gabriella was laughing. Raphael sat on the edge of her mattress, holding her hand, and listening to whatever she was saying. A team of four doctors stood near the foot of her bed, smiling and nodding.

The nurse pushed my wheelchair past Gabriella's room before I could say anything. We went three doors down and turned into a small, sterile room. There were no flowers here. There was only a narrow bed, a heart monitor, and a stark metal table.

"Get changed into this gown," the older nurse instructed. She handed me a folded piece of faded blue cotton. "The anesthesiologist will be in shortly to start your intravenous line."

They left me alone. I stood up and stripped off my comfortable clothes. I put on the thin hospital gown. It offered no warmth. I sat on the edge of the hard bed and stared at the blank white wall opposite me.

Ten minutes passed and a young doctor walked into the room carrying a tray of needles and tubes. He did not introduce himself. He just grabbed my left arm, swabbed my hand with alcohol, and inserted the needle.

"Try not to move this arm," the doctor said. He taped the tube to my skin and walked out.

I laid back on the pillows. The silence in the room was heavy. I waited for Raphael to come see me. I hoped he would leave Gabriella’s side for just two minutes to check on me, or perhaps to say thank you. The clock on the wall ticked loudly. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty. The door stayed closed.

Eventually, the door handle clicked. I sat up, hoping to see my husband.

It was Marco. He walked into the room and closed the door behind him. He stood near the foot of my bed. He looked uncomfortable in the sterile environment.

"Where is Raphael?" I asked him. I hated how desperate my voice sounded.

Marco checked his watch. "He is reviewing the surgical risks with Gabriella's team."

"He could not come here to review my risks?" I asked.

"Arabella," Marco sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know how he gets when Gabriella is involved. He shuts everything else out. Do not take it personally."

"How else am I supposed to take it?" I asked. I pointed to the IV line taped to my hand. "I am about to undergo major surgery. I am doing this for him. I just wanted him to say goodbye before they put me to sleep."

Marco stepped closer to the bed. He looked down at me with a mixture of pity and guilt.

"I should not have said what I said in the car," Marco told me softly. "I let my temper get the best of me. Just focus on waking up. Once this is over, things will change."

"Change how?" I asked. I searched his face for any clue. "Tell me what you know, Marco. Please."

Before Marco could answer, the door swung open again. The two nurses from earlier walked in, accompanied by an orderly.

"It is time, Mrs. Bellini," the older nurse announced. She unlocked the wheels on my bed. "The surgical team is ready for you."

Marco took a step back. He watched as the orderly pulled the bed away from the wall.

"Marco, wait," I said. I reached my free hand toward him. "What were you going to say?"

Marco shook his head. "I will be here when you wake up, Arabella. That is a promise."

The nurses pushed my bed out of the room and into the bright hallway. We moved quickly past the closed doors. As we neared the surgical double doors, another bed was being wheeled out of the VIP suite.

It was Gabriella.

Our beds paused at the intersection of the hallway. Gabriella looked over at me. She still had that fake, sickly sweet smile on her face.

Raphael walked right beside her bed. He held her hand tightly. He did not even glance in my direction. His focus was fixed on his stepsister, ensuring she was comfortable as the nurses maneuvered her bed.

"Raphael," I called out. My voice was weak, but I needed him to look at me.

He turned his head. His dark eyes met mine for a fraction of a second. There was no warmth in his gaze. There was no gratitude. He looked at me the same way he looked at a business contract he had just signed.

"Take care of her," Raphael ordered the nurses pushing my bed. He turned his attention back to Gabriella immediately.

The orderly pushed my bed through the heavy doors and into the freezing operating room. The bright surgical lights glared down at me. The room buzzed with medical equipment and the hushed voices of the surgical team. They moved me from the transport bed onto the narrow operating table.

A woman in green scrubs leaned over me. She held a clear plastic mask attached to a long tube.

"I am going to place this mask over your face now, Mrs. Bellini," the anesthesiologist said. Her voice was muffled through her surgical mask. "I want you to take deep breaths and count backward from ten."

She lowered the mask over my nose and mouth. The air tasted sweet and chemical. Panic flared in my chest. I thought about Marco's words in the car. I thought about Raphael holding Gabriella's hand.

"Ten," I whispered into the mask. The room started to spin.

"Nine," I counted. My limbs felt heavy. The bright lights above me began to blur into a single white halo.

"Eight." I could not feel my fingers anymore.

A doctor standing near my head leaned in close to the anesthesiologist. I could barely hear his voice over the rushing sound in my ears, but his words pierced through the fog.

"Has Mr. Bellini signed off on the secondary protocol if her heart stops?" the doctor asked quietly.

The anesthesiologist looked down at me, assuming I was already asleep, and replied, "Yes. He said to prioritize the organ extraction over the donor's resuscitation."