---- Chapter 18 Giovanni POV: | let myself go. | didn't shave. | barely ate. The whiskey bottle was my only companion. The house, once a monument to my success, became a shrine to my failure. | was a ghost rattling around in my own mausoleum. My parents eventually broke down the door. My mother gasped when she saw me. My father, the old Don, aman | had never seen show weakness, had tears in his eyes. "My son," he whispered, looking at the wreck | had become. The place was a disaster. Empty bottles littered the floor. Plates of untouched food were covered in mold. And on every wall, in every room, | had taped pictures of Isabella. Hundreds of them. Her smiling face, her laughing eyes, a constant, torturous reminder of what | had lost. "I can't live without her," | sobbed, the words torn from me, a confession of my utter dependence. "She was everything." My father grabbed me by the shoulders, his grip like steel. "Then fight, damn it!" he roared, his voice echoing with the command he once used to rule the city. "A Moretti does not give up! You will get up, you will clean yourself up, and you will get her back!" ---- His words sparked a tiny, flickering ember in the ashes of my despair. | did it. The one thing | had left to try. The nuclear option. The television interview. | sat across from a famous journalist, the bright studio lights feeling like an interrogation. | had nothing left to lose. My pride was already gone. "Mr. Moretti," she began. "Your life has been the subject of intense speculation. Why are you here tonight?" | looked directly into the camera. | imagined Bella was watching, somewhere in the world. "I'm here to apologize," | said, my voice raw. "| betrayed my wife, Isabella. | broke her heart and | destroyed our life. | was arrogant, and selfish, and a fool. | took the most precious thing in my life for granted, and now it's gone." | laid it all bare. The affair. The lies. My staggering, unforgivable stupidity. Then, | spoke directly to her. "Bella," | said, my voice breaking. "If you can hear me... please. Come home. | know | don't deserve you. | know | deserve this pain. But | can't live without you. | love you. And | will spend the rest of my life earning your forgiveness, if you'll just give me the chance." The interview was a sensation. It was the lead story on every news channel, the number one trending topic online. The world was watching my public self-flagellation. ---- | went home and waited. | stared at my phone, willing it to ring. | watched the door, praying she would walk through it. But the phone remained silent. The door remained closed. | had shouted my confession into the void. And the void had not answered.