Elena Vitiello POV:
I slowly forced my heavy eyelids open. A blinding, sterile white light stabbed at my pupils, making me instinctively turn my head to the right.
The movement sent a shockwave of agony through my left shoulder. It felt as if a wild animal had clamped its jaws down on my flesh and violently ripped it away. I looked down. Thick, pristine white surgical gauze wrapped tightly around my entire left shoulder and chest, secured with medical tape.
A tall figure stepped into my line of sight, blocking the harsh surgical lamp. It was the lead New York shadow.
He bowed his head slightly. "Miss, you are safe," he reported in low, rapid Italian.
I blinked against the dryness in my eyes. My throat felt like it was filled with broken glass. I swallowed hard, forcing the words out.
"Where is that woman?" my voice was a raspy, broken whisper.
The shadow's face darkened. His jaw tightened in anger. "In the chaos on the deck, Luca provided cover for Sofia. He took her away before we could secure her."
I heard the words, but I didn't feel a spike of rage. I didn't yell. I just stared up at the ceiling, feeling a freezing cold smirk slowly pull at the corners of my dry lips. Luca was still protecting the person who tried to murder me.
Loud, aggressive shouting suddenly echoed from the hallway outside my private room.
"Let me in! I need to see her!" It was Luca's voice, cracking with desperation.
I closed my eyes. The sound of his voice made my stomach turn. "Tell him to get lost," I whispered to the shadow.
Before the shadow could move, a heavy thud shook the wall. Luca threw his entire body weight against the heavy wooden door, crashing through the physical blockade of the outside guards.
He stumbled into the room. His clothes were soaking wet, clinging to his shivering body. His eyes were completely bloodshot, his face pale and sunken. He looked exactly like a beaten, starving stray dog.
The New York shadow moved faster than a striking snake. He drew his heavy pistol and pressed the black muzzle directly against the back of Luca's head.
Matteo scurried into the room right behind him. When he saw the gun, he dropped flat onto his knees, shaking violently. In his trembling hands, he held a small, bright pink envelope.
Luca ignored the cold steel pressed against his skull. He stared at me, his red eyes filling with tears. He reached his hand out, trying to grab my uninjured right hand resting on the bedsheets.
I violently yanked my hand back. The sudden movement sent a spike of fire through my burns, but I didn't care. I looked at him as if he were a rotting corpse.
"I'm sorry," Luca choked out, his voice trembling. "I'm so sorry, Elena. I didn't know the firework would lose control..."
I stared dead into his eyes, pronouncing every single word with absolute, freezing clarity. "Are you making excuses for her, or trying to redeem yourself?"
Luca's mouth opened and closed, but he had no answer.
Matteo shuffled forward on his knees. He held up the pink envelope like a shield. "Elena, please... this is an apology letter from Sofia. She's terrified. She's been crying non-stop, swearing she didn't mean to."
I looked at the pink envelope. The sight of it made bile rise in my throat. It was a piece of toxic, rotting garbage wrapped in a pretty color.
I didn't reach for it. I didn't say a word. I just shifted my eyes to the New York shadow and gave a single, slow nod.
The shadow snatched the envelope out of Matteo's hand. He didn't open it. He gripped it with both hands and violently tore it in half, then into quarters, shredding it into tiny pieces. He threw the confetti right into Luca's face.
The pink paper fluttered down like snow, landing on Luca's stubbled cheeks and wet shoulders. Luca squeezed his eyes shut, his face twisting in ultimate humiliation.
"From the moment you handed her that firework," I declared, my voice as cold as the lake water, "you are no longer my guards. You are my enemies."
Luca's eyes snapped open. He broke down completely. "We grew up together! Ten years, Elena! Are you really going to destroy all this over an accident?!"
I raised my right hand and pointed directly at my thick, blood-spotted bandages. I let out a dark, hollow sneer. "An accident?"
Before Luca could open his mouth to argue, heavy, synchronized footsteps thundered down the hospital corridor. The sound carried pure, murderous intent.
The wooden door to my room was kicked open with such explosive force that the heavy brass handle punched a hole straight into the drywall.
My father, the Underboss of Chicago, marched into the room. He was flanked by a dozen fully armed, high-ranking cartel enforcers.
His face was livid, flushed dark red with rage. He walked to the foot of my bed and looked at my heavily bandaged shoulder. His eyes didn't hold a father's concern; they held the furious calculation of a man who just realized his most valuable political asset was damaged.
My father slowly turned his head. His eyes locked onto Luca and Matteo. The temperature in the room plummeted. He looked at them the way a butcher looks at meat.
My father pulled the gold-plated Desert Eagle from his waist. The crisp sound of a bullet being chambered echoed in the ward. "Who gave you the nerve to cover for that bitch's escape?"
