I struggled to rise, my vision swimming, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.
A face loomed over me—flawless makeup, designer sunglasses perched on a perfect nose. Massima Gallo. The woman who had clawed her way back from European exile, who had stolen my research, my standing, my husband's attention.
A red stiletto heel came down on my right hand.
Ground down.
Hard.
"Ahh—!"
The scream tore from my throat in ragged, animal bursts. Bone ground against pavement. Tendons screamed. The world narrowed to a single point of white-hot agony.
Through the haze of pain, I saw Nico running toward us—his face transformed, panic cracking through his usual mask of ice.
He looked nothing like the cold, distant man from moments ago.
He grabbed Massima's hand, anxious, his eyes scanning her body with desperate attention, checking every inch of her for harm.
Only after confirming she was untouched did he release a heavy breath of relief.
His shoulders sagged. His grip on her hand gentled.
Until the moment darkness claimed me, he never once looked at me.
When I woke again, I was in the Family medical facility—the private clinic the Volpes maintained for their own. The walls were pristine white, the equipment state-of-the-art, but the air carried the unmistakable chill of a place where loyalty determined the quality of your care.
"Signorina Mancini, your privileges at the Volpe clinic have been revoked. I'm afraid you'll need to be transferred to a standard facility."
The nurse's voice was carefully neutral, but I caught the flicker of pity in her eyes.
"I'm sorry—we've just confirmed there are no private rooms available at the public hospital either. You may have to wait in the corridor for your surgery."
She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice dropped.
"Also, the injury to your right hand is severe. You need surgery immediately, or you may lose the ability to perform fine motor tasks permanently."
Those words hit me like ice water poured directly into my veins.
My right hand.
Unable to perform fine motor tasks.
I had trained for years in the Family's underground medical network. I had dreamed of becoming a surgeon—of saving lives, of proving my worth beyond the alliance marriage that had defined my existence.
"Nico... where's Nico..."
"Get... my phone..."
I tried to sit up, fighting through the waves of nausea and pain.
I had to call him.
The call connected.
A robotic female voice answered.