Elena Moretti POV:

The morning sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Long Island estate's sunroom.

I sat on the plush white sofa, staring at the manicured gardens. I placed my hands on the armrests and pushed myself up. I hated feeling weak. I hated being treated like glass.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Dante walked in, holding a mug of warm milk. He saw me standing and immediately crossed the room, placing his large hand on my shoulder.

"Sit down, Elena," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. He gently but firmly pushed me back onto the cushions.

I scoffed, glaring up at him. "I am pregnant, Dante. I am not paralyzed."

I snatched the mug of milk from his hand.

Dante didn't get angry. Instead, a soft, indulgent smile touched his lips. He reached out and stroked my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. He pulled his hand back, tapped the earpiece in his ear, and spoke to his head of security. "Triple the perimeter guards. No one enters the estate without my direct clearance."

He leaned down, kissed my forehead, and reached into my blazer pocket. He pulled out my custom micro-pistol and slipped it into his own jacket. "I'm going to the casino. Rest."

I listened to the deep roar of his sports car engine fading down the driveway.

As soon as the sound vanished, I sat up straight. The softness in my eyes disappeared, replaced by sharp, calculating ice.

I reached under the heavy glass coffee table and pulled out a hidden, encrypted laptop. I flipped it open. The screen flared to life, displaying a multi-way encrypted video conference. Four Wall Street executives in sharp suits sat stiffly on the other end.

I activated my voice scrambler.

"Report," I ordered. My voice came through their speakers as a deep, metallic distortion.

"We are ready to move on the Atlantic City target," the lead executive said nervously.

I pulled up the financial blueprints of the rival casino. In Chicago, I was stripped of everything because I lacked capital. I had learned my lesson. Violence was loud, but money was an invisible blade.

"Their supply chain is over-leveraged," I said coldly. "Short their main holding company. Dump the dummy shares into the market to trigger a panic sell-off, then buy the debt for pennies."

Within thirty minutes, the digital numbers on my screen plummeted in red, then spiked in green. I had just gutted a rival family without firing a single bullet. The casino belonged to me.

The screen went black. The sunroom doors opened.

Ezra, my chief legal counsel, walked in carrying a leather briefcase. He set a cup of decaffeinated herbal tea on the table and handed me a thick stack of documents.

"The Atlantic City acquisition is complete," Ezra said smoothly. "There is also a minor real estate attachment included in the portfolio."

I flipped open the file. It was a zoning map of a Chicago slum.

"We need to clear this specific block to build the new East Coast logistics center," Ezra explained, pointing a manicured finger at a cluster of red squares.

My eyes scanned the map. My gaze stopped for half a second on a rundown apartment building marked for immediate demolition.

I felt absolutely nothing.

I picked up my silver fountain pen and signed my name at the bottom of the clearance order with elegant, sweeping strokes.

Ezra smiled, taking the file back. "Your business instincts are flawless."

"Trash that blocks the empire's expansion should be cleaned up," I said simply, taking a sip of my tea.

***

Matteo Vitiello POV:

The filthy Chicago apartment smelled of mildew and stale urine.

I sat on the broken floorboards, using a torn, dirty rag to dry Luca's wet hair. He was shivering, clutching his dirty teddy bear to his chest.

Suddenly, the rotting wooden door was violently kicked open. The hinges snapped.

Two men in sharp suits stepped into the cramped room, followed by three uniformed Chicago police officers.

One of the suits sneered at the squalor. He pulled a thick piece of paper from his jacket and threw it directly into my face.

I grabbed the paper, my anger flaring. I tried to push myself up on my prosthetic leg to fight back. Before I could even stand, a cop lunged forward, slamming his heavy nightstick into my chest. He grabbed my throat and pinned me brutally against the peeling wallpaper.

The paper fluttered to the floor.

My eyes locked onto the top of the page. Stamped in glowing gold foil was the crest of the Moretti Commercial Group.

All the air left my lungs. The absolute terror of that logo paralyzed me. She found me. She knew where I was hiding.

"You have twenty-four hours to get your garbage out of here," the suit said coldly. "The bulldozers arrive tomorrow morning."

The cop released my throat and stepped back.

I slid down the wall, hitting the floor hard. I reached out with trembling fingers and picked up the eviction notice. I squeezed it so tightly my knuckles turned white.

I looked at the golden logo, my throat burning. I let out a broken, miserable laugh.

"You won't even leave me a final piece of dignity, Elena."

Matteo Vitiello POV:

I stared at the crumpled eviction notice in my hand. My knuckles were bone-white. The golden Moretti logo mocked me.

I used to control the fate of thousands in this city. I used to sign papers that decided who lived and who died. Now, I couldn't even protect a leaky, rat-infested room.

Luca began to wail. The violent entry of the police had terrified him. He curled into a tight ball in the corner, sobbing loudly, his hands covering his ears.

I dragged my useless, heavy prosthetic leg across the floorboards. "Luca, hey, it's okay. Look at me."

I reached out to touch his shoulder. Luca flailed wildly in his panic. His dirty fist flew out and smashed directly into my swollen cheekbone.

A sharp, blinding pain exploded behind my eye. I tasted fresh blood in my mouth. I didn't yell. I didn't hit him back. I just swallowed the metallic taste and pulled his shaking body against my chest, letting him cry into my wet shirt.

I looked around the room. The peeling paint, the stained mattress, the empty cupboards. There was nothing left here. My obsession burned hotter than ever. I had to go to New York. I had to see her.

I crawled over to the mattress and flipped it over. I ripped open the fabric seam and pulled out a rusted metal tin box.

My hands shook as I pried the lid off. Inside lay three crumpled one-dollar bills and a handful of sticky quarters. It wasn't even enough to buy half a bus ticket out of the state.

I closed my eyes. My gaze slowly dropped to my plastic leg.

If I sold it, I could get a few dollars. But I shook my head violently. Without the leg, I couldn't walk. I couldn't carry Luca to the station.

I grabbed a black trash bag from the corner. It was filled with heavy copper wires and rusted pipes I had dug out of dumpsters over the last week. I slung the heavy bag over my shoulder, grabbed Luca's hand, and limped out of the doomed apartment.

***

The underground pawn shop in the black market was thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of unwashed bodies.

I dropped the heavy trash bag onto the scratched glass counter. The metal clanked loudly.

The pawn shop boss, a massive man with a scarred neck, peered into the bag. He sneered, showing yellow teeth. He reached into his register and tossed two five-dollar bills onto the glass.

"Ten bucks," the boss grunted.

"No, please," I begged, my voice cracking. I pushed the bills back. "This is solid copper. I need more. I need enough for two bus tickets to New York."

The boss laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "New York? Look at you, cripple. You wouldn't survive a day. Take the ten or get the fuck out." He nodded to a massive security guard standing by the door.

I gripped the edge of the glass counter. Desperation clawed at my throat. I couldn't fail. Not now.

I opened my mouth and reached two fingers past my lips. I clamped my dirty fingers around my back molar—my last solid gold tooth. It was the final physical piece of the billionaire prince I used to be.

I bit down on my own fingers and yanked violently.

The root tore. Flesh ripped. A sickening crunch echoed in my skull. Blood instantly flooded my mouth, spilling over my lips and dripping onto the glass counter.

I pulled the bloody gold tooth from my mouth and slammed it onto the glass right in front of the boss.

The boss blinked, staring at the bloody molar in shock. He looked at my bleeding mouth, disgusted. He reached into the register, pulled out a crisp fifty-dollar bill, and threw it at me.

I snatched the bill. I didn't care about the searing pain in my jaw. I grabbed Luca's hand and rushed out the door.

***

The Chicago Greyhound bus station was cold and desolate in the middle of the night.

I stood at the ticket window, my clothes soaked, my mouth still dripping blood. I pushed the crumpled fifty, the ones, and the sticky quarters under the glass partition.

The ticket agent looked at the bloody money with pure revulsion. She used the tip of a pen to slide the coins closer.

"Two tickets to New York. The cheapest ones," I mumbled, my words slurring from the missing tooth.

The agent typed on her keyboard. The printer buzzed. She slid two thin, cheap paper tickets under the glass.

My trembling fingers snatched the tickets. I held them to my chest as if they were made of diamonds. They were the keys to my salvation.

I turned my head, staring out the dirty glass doors toward the dark highway pointing east. A sick, manic fever burned in my eyes.

I smiled, blood leaking over my teeth.

"We are going to New York. To see her."

Matteo Vitiello POV:

The decrepit Greyhound bus rattled violently over the cracked asphalt of the interstate highway.

The air inside the cabin was thick, smelling heavily of stale sweat, cheap tobacco, and urine from the broken toilet in the back. I used to fly in private jets with leather seats and crystal glasses. Now, I was shoved into the narrowest, dirtiest row at the back of a metal tube.

I pushed Luca into the window seat, letting him press his face against the glass. I took the aisle seat.

My right leg screamed in agony. The cheap plastic socket of the prosthetic was too tight. The constant vibration of the bus rubbed the hard plastic against my raw stump. I could feel the warm, sticky blood seeping through my torn pants, pooling in the socket.

The massive, tattooed man sitting in the row ahead of us turned around. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

"Hey, cripple," the man barked. "You smell like a rotting corpse. Cover that shit up."

I immediately ducked my head, staring at my dirty shoes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I whispered rapidly. I didn't dare look him in the eye.

Suddenly, Luca pointed out the window at a herd of cows in a passing field. He clapped his hands and let out a loud, shrill laugh.

The tattooed man stood up, his face turning red. "Shut that retard up right now, or I'm gonna smash his face in."

Panic spiked in my chest. I threw my upper body across the seats, shielding Luca entirely with my own back. "Please," I begged, my voice trembling. "He doesn't know any better. I'm sorry. Please don't hurt him."

The man sneered. He leaned over the seat and spat a thick wad of saliva directly onto the side of my face. He sat back down, cursing under his breath.

I didn't move. I slowly reached up and wiped the warm spit off my cheek with my dirty sleeve. I pulled Luca tighter against my chest, burying my face in his unwashed hair.

***

Hours later, the bus pulled into a desolate highway rest stop in Ohio. Rain lashed against the windshield.

The driver stood up and yelled, "Fifteen minutes! If you're not back, I'm leaving you here."

I grabbed Luca's hand and dragged my stiff, agonizing leg down the steps. I needed to clean the wound.

Inside the filthy public restroom, I leaned over the sink. I took off the bloody plastic leg. I turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water directly onto the open flesh of my stump. The pain was so sharp my vision went totally white. I bit my tongue to stop from screaming, cold sweat pouring down my back.

When I finally strapped the leg back on and stumbled out of the restroom, my heart stopped.

The spot by the door was empty. Luca was gone.

"Luca!" I shouted, my voice cracking. I limped frantically across the wet pavement.

I found him standing outside the glowing windows of the convenience store, staring blankly at the hot dogs spinning on the grill.

I let out a massive breath of relief and grabbed his arm. But Luca suddenly burst into hysterical tears. He pointed at his empty hands.

His teddy bear was missing. It was the only thing that kept him quiet, the only piece of comfort he had left in this world.

I spun around, scanning the dark parking lot. Near the gas pumps, three teenage punks in hoodies were laughing. One of them was kicking Luca's dirty teddy bear back and forth like a soccer ball.

I limped toward them as fast as my broken body would allow. "Please," I gasped. "Give it back. It's his."

The teenagers looked at me, laughing harder at my ruined face and dragging leg.

"Fetch, cripple," the tallest one sneered.

He kicked the bear hard. It flew through the air and landed straight inside a massive metal slop bin behind the restaurant.

The teenagers whistled and walked away into the darkness.

In the distance, the Greyhound bus blasted its loud air horn. The engine roared. It was leaving.

I didn't hesitate. I threw myself at the slop bin. I leaned over the edge and plunged my entire upper body into the foul sludge. It was filled with thick black motor oil, rotting food, and maggots. The stench of decay filled my nose, making my stomach heave violently.

I dug my hands through the slimy grease. My fingers closed around the soaked, heavy fabric of the bear.

I yanked it out, dripping with black oil and vomit. I turned and ran. Every step on my prosthetic sent shockwaves of blinding pain up my spine. I grabbed Luca by the shirt and dragged him toward the bus.

As the pneumatic doors began to hiss shut, I threw Luca inside and dived onto the rubber steps. The doors closed, trapping my coat, but we were in.

The passengers erupted in disgusted shouts at the horrific smell of the oil and garbage covering me.

I ignored them. I crawled up the steps and shoved the stinking, oil-soaked bear into Luca's hands. He hugged it tightly, smiling.

I collapsed onto the cold, vibrating floor of the bus. I pressed my cheek against the dirty metal. Tears leaked from my eyes, mixing with the mud and oil on my face.

"As long as I can see her, all of this is worth it."