Chapter 11
Isabella Romano POV
The flight touched down in Germany with a gentle thud, and Isabella felt her heart skip a beat. She had been waiting for this moment for months. The international medical conference was finally here—a chance to present her paper, Healing Beyond Borders: Accessible Care for the Forgotten. Her topic, rooted in regional communities and the innovative ways to extend healthcare to those society often ignored, was close to her heart.
As she stood before a hall filled with doctors, scholars, and researchers from across the globe, her voice carried both nerves and conviction. She spoke passionately about the need to bridge divides, to carry medicine where bureaucracy often failed. And when she saw nods of agreement, pens scribbling notes, and a few faces lit with curiosity, she knew she had left a mark.
After the conference ended, Isabella's excitement spilled out uncontrollably. The first person she called was Chiara.
"Chiara, you won't believe it!" she gushed into the phone. "I met doctors from South America, even a scholar from Japan who wants to collaborate. It felt like I belonged there, like my work actually matters."
Her friend's laughter echoed through the line, warm and encouraging, before they fell into easy chatter about everything she had seen. Not long after, her mother's voice came through another call, brimming with pride, asking about every detail of the presentation. Isabella smiled as she reassured her that everything had gone well.
Still wrapped in that glow of achievement, she set off toward the train station, her folder of documents tucked under her arm. But as fate would have it, she collided with someone hard enough to send her papers scattering across the pavement.
"Oh no—my notes!" she gasped, dropping to her knees.
Before she could gather them, a voice barked angrily, ready to scold. But when Isabella's eyes lifted, recognition froze her in place.
It was him.
Her patient. The man she had treated months ago. She remembered every face she had ever helped, and his was no exception.
He didn't say a word. His silence was heavy, almost deliberate. Instead, it was the man beside him who broke into conversation.
"You—what are you doing here in Germany?" he asked, his tone half-curious, half-wary.
"I—I came for the medical conference," Isabella replied quickly, still gathering her papers. "Just for work."
Before she could say more, the air shattered with the deafening crack of gunfire. Screams erupted around them as panic tore through the street. Isabella froze, her heart hammering wildly, but the man who had spoken—Marcello—did not hesitate. He seized her by the arm, dragging her toward a waiting car.
"Get in!" he ordered.
Her former patient turned sharply, his eyes burning with a resolve Isabella couldn't understand. "I'll handle this," he growled, moving toward the direction of the chaos.
"Salvatore, wait—" Marcello called, but Salvatore was already gone.
The car door slammed, and Marcello sped off through the narrow streets. Isabella clutched the seat, her breaths shallow, questions tumbling from her lips.
"Who were they? Why were they shouting? Why—why is this happening?"
Marcello didn't answer at first. His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Calm down," he finally said, voice low but firm. "Salvatore will take care of it. That's all you need to know."
The drive ended at a hotel, where Marcello ushered her quickly inside. She expected him to drop her off at a lobby or a guest room, but instead, he led her straight into what she assumed was his suite. The air inside was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and quiet tension.
"Sit," Marcello instructed.
But Isabella wasn't about to obey in silence.
"Who are you people? Why is Salvatore—my patient—caught up in something like this? What are you not telling me?"
Marcello sighed, as though she were a child asking questions she wasn't ready to hear answers to. "Just stay calm. He's handling everything."
She paced the room, restless, her mind a storm of confusion. Somewhere in the background, Marcello's phone buzzed. He answered, his tone instantly changing—lower, more deferential. She caught fragments, a name, instructions.
Then, before she could press further, he stepped outside, phone still to his ear. She only heard one name clearly as the door closed behind him.
"Salvatore is back."
And Isabella was left alone, standing in the middle of a stranger's room, her world unraveling in ways she never expected.