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."

Matteo Vitiello POV:

Three days and two nights of pure hell finally ended.

I stood on the smooth, pristine asphalt of a Long Island neighborhood. The air here smelled of expensive pine and ocean salt, a sickening contrast to the garbage and blood that coated my skin. I used to live in places like this. I used to own the world. Now, I was a walking pile of trash.

Looming ahead of me were the massive, towering iron gates of the Moretti private estate.

The gates were shut tight. Beyond them, the sprawling mansion blazed with warm, golden light. Soft, elegant classical music drifted through the cool night air. The driveway was lined with dozens of luxury cars—Ferraris, Bentleys, and armored SUVs. It was a celebration. It was Elena's pregnancy banquet.

I grabbed Luca's hand and dragged my bleeding stump toward the iron bars.

Our foul stench and shredded clothes were a horrific stain against the backdrop of billions of dollars.

Two heavily armed security guards in tailored black suits stepped out from the shadows of the gatehouse. Their eyes locked on us, instantly recognizing the threat.

Before I could speak, both men drew their weapons. The cold, black muzzles of two Glocks aimed directly at the center of my forehead.

"Step back from the gate. Now. Or we will shoot you where you stand," the guard on the left ordered, his voice devoid of any humanity.

My knees buckled. I didn't step back. I collapsed onto the wet asphalt, dropping straight to my knees.

"Please," I screamed, my voice tearing my throat raw. "I just want to see her! I just want to see Elena! Just one look!"

The guards looked at me like I was a rabid dog. The one on the right tapped his earpiece. "Control, we have a vagrant at the main gate. Send a patrol unit to clear this trash."

Seeing the guns, Luca panicked. He hid behind my back, clutching his oily teddy bear, and began to wail at the top of his lungs.

I lunged forward, grabbing the thick iron bars of the gate with both hands. I squeezed so hard the sharp iron ornaments sliced into my palms. Blood dripped down the black metal. I stared through the bars at the glowing mansion, desperate for a glimpse of her shadow.

Suddenly, a sharp command echoed from the guard's earpiece.

The guards immediately holstered their weapons and snapped to attention. The guard on the left stepped forward and kicked me squarely in the chest with his heavy combat boot.

I flew backward, rolling twice on the hard asphalt. My head slammed against the curb. Blood poured down my forehead, blinding my left eye.

But I didn't stay down. I pushed myself up on my hands.

The massive iron gates slowly began to swing open.

A convoy of black, armored SUVs rolled out of the estate. In the center of the formation was a custom, bulletproof Rolls Royce Phantom.

The convoy slowed to a crawl as it passed over the security speed bumps. Because of the fresh rain, the air was crisp. The rear window of the Rolls Royce was not fully sealed. It was rolled down by a third.

My pupils dilated. My heart stopped beating.

Through that narrow gap, I saw her.

Elena sat in the back seat. She wore a deep burgundy maternity gown that hugged her perfectly. A multi-million-dollar diamond necklace rested against her collarbone. She looked radiant, powerful, and untouchable. She was a goddess, and my filthy existence only magnified her perfection.

Dante sat beside her, leaning close, his large hands gently adjusting a cashmere shawl over her shoulders.

A surge of unnatural strength exploded in my veins. I ignored the patrol guards rushing toward me. I scrambled to my feet and ran. I dragged my heavy, agonizing plastic leg, sprinting like a madman toward the moving Rolls Royce.

I threw my body against the side of the car. My bloody hand slammed flat against the thick bulletproof glass, leaving a bright red smear.

I pressed my face near the open gap of the window.

"Elena! Please, look at me!"