COLD TRAP

Chapter 64 

MIRABELLA 

I did it. 

I won, didn’t I? 

Then why do I feel so hollow? Why do I feel like I’ve lost? Why do I feel like a fallure? 

Have I truly won, or have I dug the dark hole deeper than it was? 

I have always gotten love like poison, even from my own family. With my mother, loving me even when she couldn’t love herself. Holding my hands even when she couldn’t hold her own hand. Saving my life even when she couldn’t save herself 

Her love was poison. 

Then my sister. It would be better if we remained enemies, it would be better if she died my rival, but no, she had to show me a weakness. 

She showed me that in all of her hatred, there was still love for me, stored somewhere in her heart. 

In her last minutes, I witnessed that love. And that love too, was poison. 

With my family, their love is a poison of guilt. The guilt, like venom, seeps into my bloodstreams, taking hostage every breath, every blink, every word, every emotion–the entirety of my being. 

My inability to properly look my children in the eye is the product of that guilt. 

My son is awake–a thing to be thankful for, and yet, my insides are ripping apart. He’s looking at me coldly, like a stranger in a stranger’s 

house, in a strange place. 

yes are so stre 

strong they could melt me any minute. 

Anger, unmistakable rage, swirls in his mismatched orbs. He’s weak, and yet, his eyes a 

He is angry. 

I am guilty. 

And my daughter, she stares at me with indifference. She observes me. Awe, anger, loathe, confusion–her mismatched orbs are raging with different emotions. 

I am guilty. 

Perhaps they blame me, perhaps I’m the villain in this story. I’m the one who has caused them so much pain. I’m the one who put their father in a state of unconsciousness. I am guilty of it all. 

If they blame me, if they don’t, I am guilty of it all. 

Seven months. That is how long it has taken, and yet, my husband is yet to come awake. Everyday since I returned from taking my revenge on the people who called themselves my blood, I sit by Matteo’s side, my fingers intertwined with his, my lips moving in silent chants. 

It’s laughable, how this reminds me of the night I cut open Matteo to retrieve a bullet which had been buried in his abdominal region. This reminds me of how I waited by his corner, anticipating when he awoke–the commencement of our new beginning. 

A new beginning which never came. 

It unnerves me. Because once again, I’m anticipating that new beginning. 

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Would he wake up? 

If he does, what awaits us? 

If he doesn’t, what awaits me? 

Questions which have dug its claws into my mind rings with continuous vigor. 

Another day passes, and yet, I am still disoriented. I take a moment to remember how we began. Enemies who couldn’t agree even on the most trivial matters–but then, love came in and showed us a different way. Despite our differences, we walked the same path, my husband 

and I. 

The beeping of the machines attached to my husband resonates in my eardrums, forcing my eyes close. And when I close my eyes, they are heavy and tear–filled. 

Another day passes and I am still disoriented. Umoving, unblinking, a shadow of myself. Because a part of me is withering away. 

Matteo is not just a person, he is a feeling engraved in my heart. They’re parts of him everywhere. In the music I listen to, in the places ! wander through, in his children which we made together. 

Another day passes. 

I’m too lost staring at my unconscious husband that I don’t hear the opening and closing of the door. 

“Mirabella,” Ares’s voice startles me back into reality, his orbs, filled with pity, boring into mine when I look up at him. “It has been seven 

months, Mira.” 

“What does that mean, Ares?” 

“Your children need you.” 

“I am here?” 

Are you? It is my subconscious that reprimands me, pointing out my self deceit. 

“Are you?” Ares’s question seals the inner turmoil within me. 

I within 

A 

moment of silence passes in the air, the only noise beeping my sanity into nothingness are the machines attached to my husband–the machines keeping him alive. 

I want to be angry at the machine and their silly noises, but I cannot. They keep my husband alive–I should love them, I love their silly noises as long as Matteo stays alive. 

“You packed up your life from Rome to return to Sicily- 

I cut him off. “I did what I had to do to protect the Denaro name and legacy. You think this is easy for me? You think this is how I wanted my life to be? If I didn’t do what was to be done, these bloodthirsty, greedy bastards would have uncovered the present state of their Godfather. What do you think would happen then, Ares?” 

Ares murmurs. “Let him go. . .”” 

I pretend as though I haven’t heard him. “And start a war?” 

“Let him go… 

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“There’ll be so much bloodshed.” 

“Let him go…” 

“And powerplay.” 

This time, the unrelenting man screams his words loud and clear. “Let Him, Gol” 

I gasp. “What?” 

“Seven months is a long enough time to know if he’ll make it,” Ares breathes. “Look at him, Mirabella, he’s not getting any better-” 

*Enough.” A tear ropes down my face. “I’ve heard enough.” 

“He would’ve let you go if it were you on that bed. You know this.” 

“I know!” I tremble with sorrow. “You think I don’t know it? But it’s Matteo, it’s his nature. He’d let me go because he desires my peace. He’d 

do anything for me to have peace even if it meant letting me go… That’s the kind of lover he is. Don’t hold it against him, please.” 

“Mirabella-” 

“I said, enough!” 

As if on cue, the door is pushed open, a few doctors, close associates of Matteo’s included, filing into the room 

res’s brows furrow, his confusion evident. 

I chuckle. “You want me to let him go, si? I’ve decided to do so, but only for five minutes. The doctors think it a wise idea to have him inhale and exhale a breath without the machines. Perhaps that might be the breakthrough he needs. Right, Doctor Petrov?” 

“Y–yes ma’am.” 

I lean back into my seat, my brows shooting up, my lips pursing in contemplation. My voice is thick with darkness when I begin speaking. “You don’t sound so certain, Petrov. I do hope you remember the promise I made to you, because if anything were to happen to my 

husband-” 

“He will make it through, ma’am, I assure you.” 

Laughter ripples out of my throat at the doctor’s declaration. A maniacally kind of laughter, one which indicates my mental instability. “Did you hear that?” NôvelDrama.Org content.

Silence. 

“My husband will make it through.” My heart thunders against my throat as I lean forward, ghosting a kiss on Matteo’s temple. “Hey baby.” I breathe, “I hope you know this wasn’t exactly an easy decision to make, but I am willing to do whatever it takes to have you return to us. But 

If this doesn’t work.. 

I try to hold back, to remain strong–my strength fails me. My body vibrates with sorrow as I rest my forehead on Matteo’s. “It will work, the doctor assured me. But in a case where it doesn’t, I want you to know that I am forever grateful to you for giving my life meaning. I want you to know that I will always love you, and the kids will always love you, and your soldiers will always love their Don, and Mama and Julia will remember you for the good man that you are, and your legacy will be upheld 

My eyes meet the sorrowful ones of the boys–from Alessio, to Dean, to Maxwell. Somehow, I feel Pablo’s intense orbs on me, and I see that 

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single shake of his head–his silent way of urging my mind to peace. 

My life is crumbling. 

I have lost too many, I can no longer lose. 

“This is not to say that I’ve given you the permission to die…You will get through this, you will open your to me talk…because I have so much to say to you. So so much.” 

you will Esten open your eyes up, Matted, and your 

Minutes pass. 

I wait. 

More minutes pass. 

i still wait. 

An intraventricular injection is given, and yet, no reaction is gotten from my husband. He lays still, almost dead. 

He remains still as all the other machines are disconnected from him–all except the electrocardiography machine. 

All that silence, all the peace and quiet is replaced with chaos when the intubation tube is pulled out of his throat. 

There’s screaming, coughing, choking, more screaming. 

My eyes drop to the stopwatch. One minute. 

More chaos. 

Two minutes. 

More chaos 

Three minutes. 

Doctor Petrov’s eyes meet mine with panic. I scoff. Tears run down my face. 

Matteo’s body falls still, unconscious 

Four minutes. 

“Force his mouth open, we’re intubating him.” It’s the doctor’s voice that echoes. 

“Let him go, Mirabella.” It’s Ares’s whisper that taunts my sanity. 

Five minutes 

The electrocardiography machine beeps a straight line. No pulse. 

I stumble forward with a choked sob, my hand landing on Matteo’s thigh. I squeeze hard, digging my fingers into his skin. 

“Matteo…“I cry. “Don’t keep your wife waiting, please. Don’t abandon your wife like this.” 

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Silence. 

The doctor’s eyes meet mine, his lips parting as if wanting to announce the time of death. 

I shake my head in disagreement. In disbelief. 

“Matteo” I whisper. 

It’s subtle, almost unnoticed, but the muscle of his thigh under my touch twitches. I gasp, my eyes moving to his left hand. There’s a slight 

twitch of his fingers. 

“Matteo.” 

“Mirabella.”