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!"

Elena Moretti POV:

The shrill, agonizing scream pierced the quiet luxury of the Rolls Royce cabin.

Dante's hands froze on my cashmere shawl. His body went completely rigid. The soft, loving warmth in his blue eyes vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a terrifying, murderous void.

He recognized that voice.

Dante's hand instantly dropped to the waistband of his trousers, his fingers gripping the cold steel of his gun. He was ready to roll the window down entirely and blow the man's head off in the middle of the street.

I reached out. My calm, steady fingers gently closed over the back of Dante's hand, stopping him.

I slowly turned my head and looked out the narrow gap of the window.

Matteo was pressed against the glass. He was unrecognizable. His face was a swollen mass of purple bruises and dried blood. His clothes were soaked in black grease and mud. He looked like a rotting corpse that had been dragged behind a truck.

When Matteo saw me looking at him, a sickening, desperate light ignited in his eyes. His bloody mouth stretched into a wide, manic smile. He thought his suffering had finally earned my pity. He thought he had found redemption.

Behind him, Luca was clapping his dirty hands, pointing at me and yelling, "Pretty lady! Pretty lady!"

I stared directly into Matteo's eyes.

I didn't glare. I didn't sneer. I didn't feel a single drop of anger, hatred, or even disgust. My heart beat at a perfectly normal rhythm. I looked at him the exact same way I would look at a broken fire hydrant or a discarded plastic bag on the sidewalk.

The true letting go is not hate. It is total, absolute disregard. He had no power over me anymore.

The manic joy in Matteo's eyes shattered.

In that single second of eye contact, he understood. He saw the empty void in my gaze. He realized that he wasn't even a villain in my story anymore. He was simply nothing. He had been entirely erased from my universe.

I calmly turned my head away, facing forward.

"Roll up the window," I said softly to the driver.

The electric motor hummed. The thick bulletproof glass smoothly slid upward, completely severing Matteo's desperate screams from my world. The car didn't stop. It didn't even slow down. The Rolls Royce accelerated smoothly, gliding away into the night.

***

Matteo Vitiello POV:

The glass sealed shut.

My bloody hand slipped off the smooth, wet window. My legs gave out. I crashed onto the asphalt, my prosthetic leg twisting awkwardly beneath me.

A patrol guard sprinted up behind me. He swung a heavy stun baton, smashing it directly into the center of my spine.

Thousands of volts of electricity tore through my nervous system. My body convulsed violently on the wet road. But I didn't feel the physical pain. It was nothing compared to the absolute slaughter of my soul.

I lay paralyzed on my side, watching the red taillights of the Rolls Royce disappear into the darkness.

All the beatings, the severed leg, the ripped teeth, the miles of crawling through the mud—it was all for nothing. I had sacrificed every shred of my humanity just to reach her, and she didn't even care enough to hate me.

Luca squatted down beside my twitching body. He poked my bleeding cheek with a dirty finger, giggling.

A horrific sound clawed its way up my throat. It started as a sob and morphed into a tearing, hysterical laugh. I laughed so hard that thick clots of blood bubbled past my lips and spilled onto the road.

The guards grabbed me by the collar and dragged me backward through the mud, tossing me toward the ditch like a dead dog.

I stared up at the cold, glittering stars of the New York sky.

"I'm dead... I've been dead for a long time."