The number you have dialed is powered off.
A broken sound escaped my throat—something between a sob and a laugh.
I hurled my phone across the room.
It hit the wall with a sharp crack, the screen shattering like my last hope.
My right hand screamed with agony—sharp, relentless, like a thousand needles piercing flesh and bone.
"Signorina Mancini, we located Don Nico. He's with Signorina Gallo in the private counseling suite. Apparently she was shaken by the incident." The nurse hesitated. "The Young Don left strict instructions that no one is to disturb them."
I covered my eyes with my left hand.
Blood and tears mingled together, soaking through the sleeve of my ruined dress.
I clenched my teeth, the words grinding out of me, low and raw as a wound.
"I hate you..."
"I hate you so much, Nico Volpe."
I spent the night in the corridor like a wounded animal left to die in the shadows, my fingers wrapped around the pain pump as though it were the only thing tethering me to this world. The hours crawled past in a haze of fluorescent lights and distant footsteps—soldiers walking their rounds, nurses who averted their eyes when they passed the Young Don's discarded wife.
That night, body and soul alike were drowning in agony.
Pain so intense it circled back to numbness, a mercy I hadn't earned.
"I'm sorry, Signora Volpe." Dottore Salvatore Greco's voice was careful, measured—the tone of a man who understood exactly whose wife sat before him, and exactly how little that title meant anymore. "Due to the comminuted fracture in your right hand, combined with the surgical delay, some of the muscle tissue has already necrosed. I'm afraid you won't be able to lift heavy objects in the future."
He offered an awkward smile, the kind men give when they're delivering a death sentence wrapped in clinical language.
"I know you trained in the Family's medical network yourself, so... I'm afraid you'll never be able to hold a scalpel again."
The words hung in the sterile air like smoke after a gunshot.
"Perhaps you could speak with the Young Don? The Volpe Family has always controlled the finest medical operations on the Eastern Seaboard. If you sought treatment through their European contacts, there might still be a chance."
I shook my head.
I looked down at my right hand, swathed in white bandages like a burial shroud.
I couldn't even bend my fingers.