The screaming died in my throat as abruptly as it began.
I rose to my full height.
I dashed the tears from my cheeks. I wiped the mess from my face. I straightened my cuffs, smoothing out the wrinkles with deliberate precision.
When I turned to look at Sofia, I felt hollowed out. There was no anger left, no fire—only a cold, mechanical necessity to balance the ledger.
She was curled into a tight ball in the corner, sobbing into her knees.
"Get up," I said.
She flinched violently. "Dante, I did it because I loved you! I wanted to be the one who saved you! I couldn't stand that it was her!"
I walked over to her. I grabbed her left hand and yanked her forward.
She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes, a flicker of hope crossing her face, thinking I was offering comfort.
Instead, I threw her hand against the concrete floor.
I didn't just squeeze.
I brought my heel down.
I ground the bones against the hard floor until I felt them snap and pulverize beneath my boot.
Her scream was piercing. It ricocheted off the metal cabinets.
"You loved the title," I said calmly, watching her writhe. "You loved the money. You loved the power."
I kicked her in the ribs. She collapsed, gasping for air, her breath hitching in agony.
"Dr. Aris," I said.
The old doctor was watching me, his face pale but resolute. "Yes, Don Vitiello."
"Prep the operating theater," I said. "Immediately."
"Dante, no!" Sofia shrieked, clutching her mangled hand against her chest. "What are you going to do? You can't kill me! My father is a Senator!"
"I'm not going to kill you," I said. I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the door. "Killing you would be mercy. And I am fresh out of mercy."
I dragged her down the hallway. Nurses scattered like frightened birds. Guards looked away.
We entered the surgical prep room. I threw her onto the gurney.
"Strap her down," I ordered the two guards who had followed us.
They hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at her broken hand, then obeyed. Leather straps clamped down on her wrists and ankles, immobilizing her.
"You wanted a bad heart, Sofia?" I leaned over her. "You pretended to be weak. You pretended to need help. You stole the sympathy that belonged to her."
I looked at Aris.
"Open her chest," I said.
Sofia's eyes bulged in horror. "No! No! Please!"
"I want you to make the incision," I told the doctor. "Expose the heart. Let her feel the cold air on her organs. Then sew her back up."
"Dante, this is insanity," Aris said softly.
"Do it," I roared, my voice cracking like a whip. "Or I will open you up next."
Aris nodded stiffly. He signaled the anesthesiologist.
"No anesthesia," I said.
The room went deadly silent.
"Boss," Lee, my Consigliere, stepped forward. "She will die from the shock."
I looked at Sofia. She was hyperventilating, foaming at the mouth with primal terror.
"Fine," I said. "Light sedation. I want her to feel it when she wakes up."
I leaned close to Sofia's ear.
"And after you heal," I whispered, "you are going to take the same medication Elena took. The drugs that weaken the heart muscle. You are going to live every single day with the fear of your heart stopping. You are going to gasp for breath. You are going to be the invalid you pretended to be."
The mask came down over her face. Her eyes rolled back.
I watched the scalpel touch her skin. I watched the blood well up, a bright crimson line drawn across her chest.
It didn't make me feel better. It didn't bring Elena back.
It was just meat.
I turned and walked out of the operating room, leaving the screams behind me.
