Mated To The Mafia Werewolves

THREE DAYS LATER

Grief

Arabella wondered if this was what she was feeling.This is the property of Nô-velDrama.Org.

The intensity surpassed even the sorrow she felt when her father passed away.

Although it had been three days since Blaze’s death and funeral, it seemed as if everything occurred just today. It felt like a part of her, irretrievable, had been taken away.

And she believed so. Each time her thoughts wandered back to Blaze, she listed all the things she could have done to save him.

She failed him.

Sitting cross-legged, she focused on the wall, absentmindedly tracing the outline of the knife in her hand.

She was going to end it all, and she had given it enough thought.

She had attempted to use a rope, but Sandro’s vigilant presence prevented her. He had been watching her like a hawk.

Sandro hadn’t spoken much since the funeral, giving her the space she appreciated.

Arabella eyed the knife she had quietly brought from the kitchen, choosing a new and sharp one, thinking it might be the best option if she decided to end it. She set the knife on the table, walked to the door, locked it, and entered the bathroom for a long bath, paying more attention to her body.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had a nice bath.

Returning to the room, she put on a maxi white dress from the collection Sandro had bought for her, examining herself in the mirror. The dress was elegant, with a scoop neckline and lace embroidery-a fitting attire to join Blaze in the afterlife.

Or wherever he had gone to. Yet, he was good; she didn’t think he was in hell.

That place was only reserved for someone like Sandro.

Seated at the vanity, Arabella brushed and curled her hair for the first time. After applying subtle makeup, she picked up the knife once more. “I know you will want this for me, Blaze. The pain of not seeing you here is too much for me to bear.”

Lying on the bed, she closed her eyes. “I love you, Blaze. Wait for me on the other side,” she whispered, bringing the knife to her stomach with a smile.

However, her attempt was interrupted as a hand gripped hers, pulling her off the bed and forcefully against the wall.

The knife clattered to the ground, and Arabella’s eyes snapped open and met with the furious gaze of Sandro.

“Are you nuts?!” he growled, his grip firm as she struggled against it.

“Let me go,” she demanded, but his hand tightened.

“Let me go, bastard!”

“So you can do all that you desire? Where is your heart, Bella? How selfish can you be? And you’ve been starving yourself on purpose!”

Sandro was angry. Two days ago, he had carefully chosen food, assuming her nausea was due to the babies and she was suffering from morning sickness like other pregnant women did. He didn’t know she was intentionally purging and avoiding food. She looked sickly, pale, and fragile.

She looked as though she was going to cave in if a strong wind blew, and the fact that she had kept him from eating- made him even more furious.

“You don’t even know what you are talking about. And why call me selfish when you are the most selfish in both of us?” Arabella retorted.

She narrowed her eyes on him.

“Well, I am not the one trying to end my life because my lover died. I am not selfish, thinking only of myself and not the babies who might suffer.”

“Your best friend died, Sandro,” Arabella muttered, her voice low but audible. Her gaze shifted to his, and her trembling lower lip revealed vulnerability. “Your friend died, and you did nothing. I saw no tears in your eyes. You didn’t act like you cared about Blaze. Why should I be surprised?!”

“Lower your voice, Bella,” Sandro warned, but she was beyond caring.

Arabella sniffled, defiantly locking eyes with him. “Or else you’ll hit me? I don’t care how long you lock me in here, Sandro. I will never like you. You can’t ever be Blaze!”

Sandro growled, nudging her against the wall. “And I don’t want to be because I am Alessandro De Luca, the alpha of this pack, and not some nameless idiot.”

He snorted, his green eyes burning with a golden intensity as they narrowed on her. “You have no right to tell me how to grieve about him. Yes, he messed up with you, but that didn’t make me hate him. I went to his funeral. I took care of his sister and his fucking lover. Who would do that after being betrayed by the person they trusted the most?”

Arabella tried to respond, but no words came out as she listened to Sandro continue.

“The room isn’t locked, neither is the entrance gate or the main one. You can leave if you desire,” he said, releasing her. As he turned away, she noticed the pain he was trying to conceal and angry marks on his skin. Had he fought with someone? She frowned.

“I’m going out to bring in some food. I don’t care where your appetite went, Arabella; bring it back. Otherwise, I’ll make sure you eat, and I intend to shove the food down your throat if you refuse,” Sandro declared, leaving the room without a glance.

“He acts as if he owns me!” Arabella hissed, slumping into the swivel chair nearest to her. Her gaze returned to the knife on the floor.

She had wanted to end her life, and if Sandro hadn’t intervened, she might have done so.

Grimacing, she felt her stomach churn at the thought of lying on the bed surrounded by blood. Would Blaze have wanted that? She questioned herself, placing a hand on her stomach.

She had contemplated taking her life without considering the other lives within her. Sick to her stomach, she fought back the surge of vomit, whispering, “I am not a murderer. I am not a murderer.”

She wasn’t, but she had wanted to do what her sick mind was telling her. She might loathe Sandro, but she was glad he had intervened.

Arabella let out a deep breath, going to sit on the bed while waiting for Sandro’s arrival.