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.

Elena POV

I recognized the glint of silver before my eyes could even focus on the details.

It was the locket.

Vintage sterling, engraved with a delicate tangle of vines and roses.

I was the one who found it in an antique shop in Florence on our first anniversary.

I was the one who had carefully placed a picture of us inside.

And I was the one who had clasped it around his neck before he deployed, telling him it was his compass to find his way back to me.

Dante strode back to Mia.

He didn't look at me.

He didn't see the woman dying by inches against the tree mere feet away.

"I found it," he said, his voice rough with relief. "I told you I'd find it."

He fastened it around Mia's neck.

The silver chain rested against her throat.

It looked wrong.

It looked like a lie.

Mia clutched the locket as if it were a lifeline.

"Thank you, Artie. I was so scared. It's the only thing I have of yours from... before."

Dante smiled.

Then, with a tenderness that shattered me, he reached out and tapped the tip of her nose with his index finger.

Boop.

The world tilted on its axis.

My vision went black at the edges.

That was my gesture.

He used to do that when I was mad at him.

He used to do that when I was sad.

It was our secret language.

A silly, childish thing that the feared Don of Chicago only did for his wife.

And now, he was doing it for her.

He had given her my locket.

He had given her my gesture.

He had taken the most sacred parts of our history and transplanted them onto a stranger because he couldn't remember where they came from.

He just knew they meant love.

And he loved her.

Bile rose in my throat, hot and acidic.

I couldn't breathe.

The pain in my chest wasn't just the disease anymore.

It was my soul tearing itself apart.

I turned around.

I didn't care if I made noise.

I stumbled away, my heels sinking into the soft earth, fighting for balance.

I ran toward the house.

I ran toward my room.

I needed to hide.

I needed to scream.

But as I reached the sanctuary of my bedroom and collapsed onto the floor, no sound came out.

Only silence.

The silence of a ghost realizing she had already been exorcised.

Elena POV

The scent of peaches was so strong it made my mouth water, heavy and sweet in the air.

I was back in the orchard on the Vitiello estate.

The sun was high and hot, baking the earth, releasing the heady perfume of ripe fruit and dry grass.

I was twenty-one.

My white sundress danced around my legs, catching the warm breeze.

Dante was walking toward me between the rows of trees.

Gone was the tailored suit.

Instead, he was dressed in tactical gear, black and heavy, smelling of gun oil and leather.

He had just come from the shooting range.

He looked dangerous.

He looked like a god of war who had stumbled into a garden.

He stopped in front of me, blocking out the sun, casting me in his shadow.

He didn't smile often, but his eyes were warm when they landed on me.

"What are you looking at, Principessa?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in my chest.

He reached out and tapped the tip of my nose with a calloused finger.

A silent, playful gesture.

I laughed, swatting his hand away, but the humor faded quickly.

"I'm looking at my husband," I said. "You're leaving soon."

His face grew serious, the warmth in his eyes dimming slightly.

"Just a dispute in Chicago. I'll be back before the peaches rot."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the silver locket.

It was cool against my palm.

"Take this," I said. "So you remember who is waiting for you."

He took it.

His thumb brushed over the engraving.

E & D.

"I don't need silver to remember you, Elena," he said.

"Take it anyway."

He opened his hand.

In his palm sat a ring.

It was thick, silver, matching the locket's design.

"I had this made," he said. "A matching set. One stays with you. The other goes with me."

He slid the ring onto my finger.

It fit perfectly.

"This is our promise," he whispered, leaning his forehead against mine. "Wherever I am, this brings me back to you. Until death."

"Until death," I repeated.

He kissed me.

It tasted like peaches and gunpowder.

It tasted like eternity.