Elena POV
Dr. Rossi arrived with the morning mist.
We met in the secluded corner of the garden, away from the prying ears of the house staff. The air was crisp, heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine.
I coughed into a silk handkerchief. The spasm rattled my ribs, a deep, wet sound that seemed to tear through my chest.
When I pulled the cloth away, there was a bloom of bright red blood against the white fabric. It looked like a rose, unfurling in fast-forward.
Dr. Rossi looked at it with grim resignation.
"It's accelerating," he said, his voice low. "The stress of the trip. The shock."
"How long?" I asked.
"A month," he said. "Maybe less if you don't rest. Elena, you need to be in a hospital. We can manage the symptoms better there."
"No hospital," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I want to die in my own bed."
"But the pain..."
"I can handle pain."
I took a thick envelope from my purse and pressed it into his hand.
"This is for your silence. Omertà. No one knows. Not my brother. Not Dante."
He weighed the envelope, his eyes sad and fearful. To keep a secret from the Don was a dangerous game, but he nodded slowly.
"As you wish, Donna Elena."
With a stiff bow, he left.
I sat on the stone bench, watching the leaves fall from the oak trees, counting the seconds of silence.
Suddenly, the tranquility shattered.
Shouting erupted from the other side of the hedge. I heard running footsteps, heavy and frantic.
"Find it!" a voice roared.
It was Dante.
The voice wasn't Arthur's soft murmur. It was the voice of the Don. Thunderous. Commanding. A voice that promised violence.
I stood up, my legs shaky, and walked around the hedge.
The garden was in chaos.
Soldiers were on their hands and knees, combing through the grass like desperate animals. Maids were weeping in a huddle near the terrace.
Dante was pacing like a caged tiger. He was wearing one of his old suits, tailored to perfection, but his tie was loose, hanging like a noose around his neck.
Mia was sitting on a bench, crying.
"I'm sorry," she sobbed, her face buried in her hands. "I didn't mean to lose it. It just fell off."
Dante stopped pacing.
He knelt in front of her.
"Don't cry," he demanded, but his voice softened instantly, a jarring shift from the monster who had just been screaming. "We will find it. I will burn this entire garden down if I have to."
He looked up at the soldiers, his eyes blazing with cold fire.
"If you don't find it in five minutes, heads will roll."
I leaned against a tree, watching, unseen.
He was terrifying. He was magnificent. He was the man I married.
But he wasn't doing this for power. He wasn't tearing the world apart for territory or respect.
He was doing it because a girl from the Midwest was sad.
A soldier scrambled near the fountain, mud staining his knees.
"I found it!" he yelled, breathless. "Boss! I found it!"
Dante was there in a second.
He snatched the object from the soldier's hand with a desperation that made my stomach turn.
He held it up to the light.
It was silver. It glinted in the sun.
I recognized it instantly.
My heart didn't just skip a beat; it stopped beating altogether.
