The Lost Ricci: Heir Back from the Dead

Chapter 6: Selena's Awakening and Bella's Betrayal

Selena Ricci's eyes fluttered open to sterile white ceiling tiles and the rhythmic beeping of medical monitors. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, each one a small victory against the cancer eating away at her from the inside. A sigh of relief escaped her cracked lips—she was still alive.

Alive. After everything.

The weight that had pressed on her chest for months lifted slightly. She'd done it. Against all odds, against time itself, she'd fulfilled her duty. Pietro had his son back. Ryan was home. The Ricci family was whole again, or as whole as it could be with her dying and their mother long buried.

The Ricci family had given her everything—a name, a fortune, a purpose when she'd had nothing. Adopted at eight years old from circumstances she tried not to remember, Selena had sworn to repay their kindness. Finding Ryan had been her final gift, her last act of devotion before the cancer claimed her.

She'd missed their reunion. That stung more than she wanted to admit. While she'd been unconscious in this hospital bed, battling fever and failing organs, Pietro had finally held his son again. She'd orchestrated it, made it happen, but she hadn't been there to witness it.

A pang of jealousy twisted in her gut—irrational, petty, but real nonetheless. She pushed it down. What mattered was that Ryan was back. Her brother. The blood heir. The one who would carry on when she was gone.

"Ms. Ricci!" Dr. Bruno's voice cut through her thoughts as he rushed into the room, his face alight with cautious optimism. "You're awake. This is excellent. We need to run some tests, but first—"

"Isabella!" a sharp female voice shouted from the doorway. "Get the bodyguards! Contact the medical team! Now!"

Selena's eyes shifted toward the commotion. Isabella Conner stood just inside the room, her deep blue hair a shocking contrast against the clinical white walls. Her personal secretary and assistant looked frazzled, mascara smudged beneath her eyes as if she'd been crying.

"Bella," Selena managed, her voice hoarse. "Calm down. I'm fine."

"Fine?" Isabella's voice cracked. "You've been unconscious for eighteen hours! You're not fine, you're—" She stopped, composing herself with visible effort. "The medical team is on their way."

As the adopted daughter of Pietro and Camelia Ricci, Selena had ensured everything was arranged perfectly. Ryan would receive the best hospital service when his time came, the finest care money could buy. As the new CEO of Apex Crown Holdings—once he finished his ridiculous "work from the bottom up" plan—he'd have access to everything the Ricci empire offered.

Isabella watched the medical staff bustle around Selena's bed, her mind drifting to darker places. Her own past was a nightmare she couldn't escape, no matter how much designer clothing she wore or how many zeros appeared in her bank account.

Her mother had been promising once—beautiful, talented, full of dreams. Then she'd married a gambling addict who'd destroyed everything. Isabella's first seven years had been so horrific that she'd wished, more than once, that she'd never been born at all.

She remembered the night clearly—the screaming, the smell of cheap vodka, the glint of the kitchen knife. Her mother, drunk and desperate, had finally snapped. The blade had found her father's chest, and Isabella had watched from the hallway, too terrified to move or scream.

After her mother's arrest, social welfare had placed her in St. Catherine's Orphanage. Cold showers, thin blankets, and the gnawing certainty that nobody wanted her. Then Camelia Ricci had appeared like some fairy godmother, choosing Isabella out of dozens of children.

Isabella still didn't understand why. What had Camelia seen in her? A broken eight-year-old with dead eyes and nightmares? It made no sense.

"Ms. Ricci," Dr. Bruno said, moving to Selena's bedside with a small flashlight. "I need you to focus. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Selena strained, her vision swimming. The world felt soft around the edges, like reality itself was losing definition. "Three," she finally whispered.

Dr. Bruno's expression remained professionally neutral, but Isabella caught the flicker of concern. She knew what he wasn't saying—Selena had weeks left. Maybe a month if she was lucky, which she generally wasn't.

"Where's Ryan?" Selena asked suddenly, her eyes searching the room.

Isabella felt her jaw tighten. She crossed her arms, her perfectly manicured nails digging into her skin. "You didn't even notice I was here," she said, her voice carrying a petulant edge. "Your best friend and personal assistant, and you ask about Ryan first."

Selena's lips curved into a weak smile. "Don't pout, Bella. It's unbecoming."

"He refused to show up, by the way," Isabella added, her tone sharper than intended. "Your precious brother is too busy settling into his new life to bother checking on his dying sister."

"Bella—"

"I'm your strongest support," Isabella continued, the words tumbling out with surprising venom. "I've been here through everything. The diagnosis, the treatments, the worst nights when you thought you'd die alone. But sure, ask about Ryan. The stranger who wandered back into your life."

Selena's smile softened with genuine affection. "You're right. I'm sorry. You've been more than I deserve."

The apology deflated Isabella's anger. She sank into the chair beside Selena's bed, suddenly exhausted. "You scared me," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks again. "When you collapsed, when they rushed you here, I thought—" Her voice broke. "Don't scare me like that again."

"I'll try not to," Selena said dryly. "Though I can't make promises my body won't keep."

Dr. Bruno cleared his throat. "Ms. Conner, I need to ask you to step outside. We have several tests to run, and they require privacy."

Isabella stood reluctantly, wiping at her eyes. "Fine. But if anything happens—"

"You'll be the first to know," Dr. Bruno assured her.

Isabella walked out, her designer heels clicking against polished floors. The tears continued streaming down her face, hot and genuine and entirely unwelcome. She hated crying. It made her feel weak, exposed, like the broken little girl in the orphanage all over again.

Outside the VIP room, Isabella paused at a decorative mirror hanging in the hallway. She studied her reflection critically—mascara streaked, foundation blotchy where tears had cut through it. Her deep blue hair, dyed just last week, looked vibrant against her pale skin.

She pulled her Louis Vuitton bag from her shoulder, fishing out her makeup kit. With practiced efficiency, she touched up her red lipstick, fixed her foundation, and made herself presentable again. No one needed to see her cry. Weakness was vulnerability, and vulnerability got you hurt.

Isabella pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a golden lighter that had been a gift from Selena. She inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill her lungs and calm her nerves.

"Bitch," she muttered under her breath, though whether she meant Selena, herself, or the universe in general remained unclear.

Her phone buzzed. An unknown number. Isabella answered without hesitation.

"She's awake," Isabella said quietly, her voice flat and emotionless.

"And Ryan Ricci?" a male voice asked. "Has he arrived yet?"

"Should be here soon," Isabella replied, taking another drag from her cigarette. "He's been meeting with Pietro all morning, playing the devoted son."

"Unfortunate," the voice said, carrying a weight of regret that sounded entirely false. "Now that Selena's found the Ricci heir, there's no reason to keep her alive. She's served her purpose."

Isabella's lips twitched, something dark and ugly moving beneath her carefully constructed mask. "What's he like? Ryan?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does if I'm supposed to deal with him." Isabella's voice took on a calculated edge. "He might be devoted to Selena. I hope he's also foolish—it will make my aim easier to accomplish."

"We're running out of time," the voice said urgently. "Meet me at the usual place. One hour."

"Fine," Isabella said, her tone bored.

A deeper male voice came on the line—different from the first, rougher and more sinister. "Remember what's at stake, Isabella. You fail us, and those photographs get released. Your mother's trial, your father's body, all those lovely details the media would love to sink their teeth into."

Isabella's jaw clenched. "I remember."

"Good. Because if Ryan Ricci becomes a problem, you'll be the one to eliminate it. Permanently."

The line went dead.

Isabella stared at her phone, her expression cold and calculating. She took one last drag from her cigarette before crushing it beneath her heel. Nobody truly cared about her—they never had. She'd always been a weapon, a tool to be used against Selena and the Ricci family.

The orphanage, the adoption, the years of playing best friend and loyal assistant—all of it had been orchestrated. She'd been planted in Selena's life like a virus, waiting for the right moment to activate.

And that moment was now.

"I owe Selena nothing," Isabella whispered to herself, the words tasting like poison. "Nothing at all."

She straightened her shoulders, touched up her lipstick one final time, and walked away from the VIP room. Behind her, Selena lay dying, trusting her completely.