Semua Bab The Don's babygirl. : Bab 51 - Bab 60

It was just past 5 AM when Julia's phone rang, jolting her awake. She fumbled for it on the nightstand, her heart pounding in her chest. The caller ID displayed an unknown number. "Hello?" she answered, her voice groggy with sleep. A distorted voice came through the speaker, crackling with static. "We have your daughter." Julia's blood ran cold. "What? Who is this? What are you talking about?" "Isabella is with us," the voice repeated, cold and emotionless. "If you want to see her again, you'll listen carefully." Julia sat bolt upright in bed, her mind reeling. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a nightmare. "What do you want?" she managed to choke out, her voice trembling. "We want five million dollars," the voice said. "In unmarked bills. We'll give you instructions on where to deliver the money. Don't call the police. Don't tell anyone. If you do, Isabella will be harmed." The line went dead. Julia stared at her phone in disbelief, her body shaking uncontrollably. Isabella.

The silence was the worst. Thick, suffocating silence broken only by the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water somewhere in the bowels of this forgotten place. Julia huddled in the rickety chair, the rough rope biting into her wrists. Each drip was a hammer blow against her sanity. This can't be happening. This isn't real. The words echoed in her mind, a desperate mantra against the encroaching fear. But the cold, hard reality pressed in, a suffocating blanket woven from dread and uncertainty. Isabella. Her heart clenched. Is she safe? Please, God, keep her safe. The image of Isabella's bright, trusting eyes swam before her, a painful reminder of all she stood to lose. I have to get back to her. I can't let her down. She forced herself to take a deep breath, fighting back the rising tide of panic. Then, the betrayal crashed over her again, a wave of nausea and disbelief. Kate. The memory of their laughter, their shared secrets, the easy camaraderie, twisted into a grotesque mockery. Ho

The helicopter ride was a blur. Massimo cradled Julia in his arms, his fingers gently tracing the bruises on her face. She was still unconscious, her breathing shallow and ragged. He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling her scent, desperate to reassure himself that she was alive. He was so close to losing her. He was so sorry. The private hospital was a whirlwind of activity. Doctors and nurses swarmed around Julia, whisking her away on a gurney. Massimo stood helplessly by, his heart pounding with anxiety. He wanted to be with her, to protect her, but all he could do was watch as they disappeared behind the sterile doors of the operating room. Hours crawled by. Massimo paced the waiting room, his nerves stretched to the breaking point. Marco sat silently nearby, a grim reminder of the violence he had witnessed. The weight of what had happened, the near-loss of Julia, pressed down on Massimo like a physical burden. Finally, a doctor emerged, his face etched with concern. Massi

The silence in the house was oppressive. It wasn't the comfortable silence of shared contentment, but the heavy, suffocating silence of unspoken fears and unacknowledged pain. Massimo watched Julia from across the dinner table, his heart aching with concern. She barely touched her food, her gaze distant and unfocused. "Everything alright, tesoro?" he asked gently, using the Italian endearment he knew she loved. Julia startled, her eyes flicking to his, then quickly darting away. "Fine," she mumbled, picking at her salad. Massimo knew she was lying. "Julia," he persisted, his voice soft. "You haven't said more than a few words all day. What's on your mind?" She sighed, pushing her plate away. "It's nothing, Massimo. Just tired." He reached across the table and took her hand, his touch gentle but firm. Her hand was cold, lifeless. "You can talk to me, Julia. I'm here for you." She pulled her hand away, her face tightening with a flicker of irritation. "I know, Massimo. But sometime

Months later, the custody arrangement for Isabella was a carefully orchestrated dance, a delicate ballet of compromise and coordination that, against all odds, seemed to be working. It wasn't etched in stone by a judge's gavel, but rather, inked onto paper through a painstakingly negotiated and mediated agreement signed by all parties involved – Julia, Massimo, and Mikal. It was a document born of necessity, a testament to their shared desire to put Isabella's well-being above their own personal feelings and complicated history. The agreement, now a familiar sight on their shared calendar and within the legal files, read: Isabella Valentino-Smirnov (name change pending final approval) shall reside primarily with Julia and Massimo Valentino. Mikal Smirnov shall have visitation as follows: Months 1-6: Two supervised visits per week, 2 hours each Months 7-12: Three unsupervised visits per week, 3 hours each, including one overnight on weekends Year 2: Every other weekend (Friday evening t