Pretending to Be an Untouchable Crime Boss-Chapter 41: Guilt of the Past.

The moment his tears had fallen, the second Bella's arms had wrapped around him, he had allowed a crack in the armor, one he never should have shown.

His body tensed. He swallowed hard, pushing back whatever remained of that brief, fragile moment of weakness.

Without a word, he pulled away.

"I'll lay Charlotte down." He murmured, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. His hands were steady as he lifted her, though something in his chest felt like it was trembling.

Charlotte stirred, her small face pressing against his shoulder as she mumbled something in her sleep.

Bella watched him, her heart heavy. The silence between them felt thick, suffocating. She took a slow step forward.

"James... you can talk to me." Her voice was soft, careful.

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"No."

The word came out fast, sharp then he looked at her and Bella froze, because the man standing in front of her wasn't James Bellini.

The man in front of her was different.

His eyes weren't cold at all. They were hollow, sunken into something deeper, something older.

A wound that never healed.

Those weren't the eyes of a ruthless boss.

They were the eyes of a man who had buried something so traumatic, so agonizingly deep, that he had spent years trying to forget it.

And yet, in this moment, Bella could see it clawing its way back to the surface.

His gaze didn't just meet hers, it buried into her, dragging her into whatever abyss he was drowning in.

James turned away before she could say anything else, his movements precise, controlled, like a man forcing himself to stay composed.

Bella wanted to stop him, wanted to reach out, but something about the way his shoulders tensed, the rigid set of his jaw, told her that if she pushed, he would shut down completely.

So she let him go.

She watched as he carried Charlotte upstairs, his footsteps quiet but heavy, like the weight of the past was pressing down with every step.

She stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her mind racing, because James never showed weakness.

Not in front of them. Not in front of anyone.

But tonight, he had.

And she couldn't shake the image from her mind.

The way his eyes had darkened, not with anger, not with his usual calculated sharpness, but with something raw, something buried so deep that even James himself refused to acknowledge it.

He had been staring into the abyss of his own past.

Minutes passed. Maybe longer.

She forced herself to move, walking toward the liquor cabinet, her fingers brushing against the cool glass of a whiskey bottle.

She poured a drink, but before she could take a sip, she heard him.

Footsteps.

When she turned, James was already coming down the stairs. His face was unreadable, locked back into the expression of the man she knew, the man who never faltered, never let his guard down.

But his eyes...they still carried the ghosts.

"James."

He didn't stop. Didn't answer. He just walked past her, heading for the back patio.

Bella hesitated, then followed.

James stood near the railing, hands gripping the edge, his head bowed slightly as if lost in thought.

Bella didn't speak at first. She just stood beside him, staring out at the same skyline, waiting.

"You don't have to tell me..." she finally said. "But I'm not stupid, James. I see it."

He exhaled, slow and measured.

"You see what?"

"The way you locked up the moment I asked about him." Her voice was careful, firm. "The way you looked at me like you weren't even here anymore. Like you were back there, wherever 'there' is."

James didn't answer.

Bella swallowed. "I get it. Some things aren't meant to be spoken about. But you know what's worse?" She turned her head toward him. "Letting it fester. Letting it own you."

James let out a low, almost humorless chuckle, shaking his head.

"You don't understand, Bella."

"Then make me understand."

He finally looked at her and what she saws....guilt.

Bella's chest tightened. "James..."

His voice was quiet when he spoke next.

"Marcello was my best friend."

Bella felt her heart drop. James had never said that about anyone.

Not once.

James straightened, his posture closing off again, shutting her out.

"But I don't want to talk more about him." He glanced at her, searching her face, maybe expecting resistance, maybe waiting for her to argue.

Bella hesitated, then took a step closer, her voice softer now.

"You know... talking about someone doesn't erase them."

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but not quite.

"Doesn't mean I want to remember."

She realized. It wasn't that he didn't want to remember.

It was that he couldn't without it hurting too much.

And maybe, just maybe, that pain ran so deep that forgetting was the only way he knew how to survive.

James gripped the railing tighter, his knuckles turning white, the cold metal biting into his skin...but it was nothing compared to the ache inside.

It was there again. That hollow, gnawing feeling, creeping through the cracks he swore didn't exist. But no matter how deep he tried to bury it, guilt had a way of clawing itself back to the surface.

It never faded. It never eased. It never let him go.

Because this wasn't just guilt. It was his fault.

Or so he thought.

Because when it truly mattered, when he should have seen, should have stopped it....

He hadn't. Instead, he let it happen. He let him fall.

And now? Now all that was left was silence, the kind that seeped into his bones.

The kind that whispered, over and over, You should have saved him.

But he hadn't. He had failed him. And the worst part?

James had tried to forget.

Tried to push it down, deep enough that it could never crawl its way back up.

Some wounds never closed.

And this one, this one bled, even now and James had realized it too fucking late.

He could still feel the coldness of that hand when he had reached out, gripping lifeless fingers like somehow, someway, he could pull him back.

But there was no coming back.

He had been too late.

And now, every time he closed his eyes, he saw it all over again.

The empty stare. The stillness. The weight of knowing that the only person who could have saved him should have been him.

And he had failed.

A shudder ran through him, but he forced himself to straighten, to breathe past crushing his chest. He wouldn't break. He couldn't break.

Because breaking meant remembering.

And if he remembered too much, he'd have to accept the truth.

That his hands had been empty when it mattered most.

He exhaled sharply, his breath uneven, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"He didn't belong in this world." His gaze distant, lost in something only he could see. "He was just—" His voice broke, and for a second, Bella thought he wouldn't go on.

But he did.

"He was just my best friend, my brother." His lips curled into a hollow, bitter smile.

Bella clenched her fists. "James—"

"I should've sent him away." His voice was hoarse, thick with something he refused to name. "I should've told him to run, to get the hell out before it was too late. But I didn't. I let him stay in my world.. a world that was to much for him." His hands raked through his hair, his breathing coming in short, sharp bursts.

"And then one day... he was just gone." His throat bobbed. "Just... fucking gone."

Bella's chest ached as she watched him, as she saw the guilt of years pressing down on him, crushing him from the inside out.

"You don't understand..." James whispered, his eyes meeting hers. "Every night...I see him. Every goddamn time I close my eyes." He let out a shuddering breath. "And the worst part? The worst fucking part?"

Bella swallowed, bracing herself.

"I don't even remember his voice anymore." His expression twisted, like the realization was cutting him open from the inside. "I remember his face. I remember the way he looked at me before...." He sucked in a breath, his voice catching. "But his voice? His laugh? His fucking laugh, I can't hear it anymore."

Bella's chest squeezed painfully.

"You don't forget people like that." He whispered. "You shouldn't."

Bella hesitated for only a moment before reaching for him, her fingers gripping his wrist solid, steady.

"Then let's remember him." She said softly. "Tell me about him."

James let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment like he was trying to pull himself back together.

"I... I can't."

"Why?" she asked gently.

James swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as his fingers curled into a fist. "Because if I do... it makes it real." His voice was quiet, rough with something unspoken.

Bella watched him, her eyes searching his face. "It is real, James."

His breath hitched, and he pulled his wrist away, running a hand down his face like he could wipe away the emotions threatening to spill over. "I know that." He muttered, turning his back to her. "I just don't want to face it."

"You don't have to face it alone."

"It's not about being alone. It's about what happens when I let myself remember. Because once I start... I don't think I can stop."

Bella felt her chest tighten at his words, at the weight he carried alone. She wanted to tell him it was okay, that remembering didn't have to be a weakness. But she knew better.

Instead, she simply said.

"Then let me be here when you do."

She didn't wait for him to say anything else, she just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

James stayed still, his head slightly bowed, his hands hovering at his sides like he wasn't sure what to do. Then, almost hesitantly, he lifted his arms and returned the hug. His grip was uncertain at first, but then it tightened, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt like he was anchoring himself.

Bella felt his breath against her shoulder, uneven and strained. She could tell he was holding back, struggling to keep everything contained.

"I don't want to forget him...."

Bella closed her eyes, holding him a little tighter. "Then don't."