The screaming died in my throat as abruptly as it began.

I rose to my full height.

I dashed the tears from my cheeks. I wiped the mess from my face. I straightened my cuffs, smoothing out the wrinkles with deliberate precision.

When I turned to look at Sofia, I felt hollowed out. There was no anger left, no fire—only a cold, mechanical necessity to balance the ledger.

She was curled into a tight ball in the corner, sobbing into her knees.

"Get up," I said.

She flinched violently. "Dante, I did it because I loved you! I wanted to be the one who saved you! I couldn't stand that it was her!"

I walked over to her. I grabbed her left hand and yanked her forward.

She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes, a flicker of hope crossing her face, thinking I was offering comfort.

Instead, I threw her hand against the concrete floor.

I didn't just squeeze.

I brought my heel down.

I ground the bones against the hard floor until I felt them snap and pulverize beneath my boot.

Her scream was piercing. It ricocheted off the metal cabinets.

"You loved the title," I said calmly, watching her writhe. "You loved the money. You loved the power."

I kicked her in the ribs. She collapsed, gasping for air, her breath hitching in agony.

"Dr. Aris," I said.

The old doctor was watching me, his face pale but resolute. "Yes, Don Vitiello."

"Prep the operating theater," I said. "Immediately."

"Dante, no!" Sofia shrieked, clutching her mangled hand against her chest. "What are you going to do? You can't kill me! My father is a Senator!"

"I'm not going to kill you," I said. I grabbed her by the hair and dragged her toward the door. "Killing you would be mercy. And I am fresh out of mercy."

I dragged her down the hallway. Nurses scattered like frightened birds. Guards looked away.

We entered the surgical prep room. I threw her onto the gurney.

"Strap her down," I ordered the two guards who had followed us.

They hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at her broken hand, then obeyed. Leather straps clamped down on her wrists and ankles, immobilizing her.

"You wanted a bad heart, Sofia?" I leaned over her. "You pretended to be weak. You pretended to need help. You stole the sympathy that belonged to her."

I looked at Aris.

"Open her chest," I said.

Sofia's eyes bulged in horror. "No! No! Please!"

"I want you to make the incision," I told the doctor. "Expose the heart. Let her feel the cold air on her organs. Then sew her back up."

"Dante, this is insanity," Aris said softly.

"Do it," I roared, my voice cracking like a whip. "Or I will open you up next."

Aris nodded stiffly. He signaled the anesthesiologist.

"No anesthesia," I said.

The room went deadly silent.

"Boss," Lee, my Consigliere, stepped forward. "She will die from the shock."

I looked at Sofia. She was hyperventilating, foaming at the mouth with primal terror.

"Fine," I said. "Light sedation. I want her to feel it when she wakes up."

I leaned close to Sofia's ear.

"And after you heal," I whispered, "you are going to take the same medication Elena took. The drugs that weaken the heart muscle. You are going to live every single day with the fear of your heart stopping. You are going to gasp for breath. You are going to be the invalid you pretended to be."

The mask came down over her face. Her eyes rolled back.

I watched the scalpel touch her skin. I watched the blood well up, a bright crimson line drawn across her chest.

It didn't make me feel better. It didn't bring Elena back.

It was just meat.

I turned and walked out of the operating room, leaving the screams behind me.

Dante Vitiello POV

I sat on the unforgiving plastic chair in the hallway. My shirt was a ruin—stained with mud from the grave and blood from where I had bitten through my own lip.

My phone buzzed against my thigh. It was Sofia's father.

I answered, my voice a hollow scrape.

"Dante, where is my daughter? She's not answering her phone. The wedding planner is waiting for the deposit."

"There will be no wedding," I said.

"Excuse me? You can't just call off a wedding with the Moretti family. We have contracts. We have—"

"Sofia is currently in surgery," I said, staring at the sterile white wall opposite me. "She decided to donate a kidney. She is finally making the lie she told three years ago the truth."

Silence stretched on the other end.

"If you ever call me again," I said, my tone dropping to a lethal whisper, "I will burn your house down with you inside it. Do not test me. I have nothing left to lose."

I hung up and crushed the phone in my hand until the screen shattered into a spiderweb of glass, slicing my palm.

I stood up and walked back to the morgue.

Elena was still there. She looked small. Abandoned.

Dr. Aris had finished his work. He had closed the incisions. She was dressed in a simple white hospital gown.

"The funeral home is on the way," Aris said gently. "They can prepare her for cremation."

"No," I said.

"Dante, you have to let her go."

"No fire," I said. "And no dirt."

I couldn't put her in the ground. The ground was cold. The ground was full of worms and rot. And fire... fire was what I had put her through for five years. I couldn't burn her again.

"Get the cryo-casket from the storage facility," I ordered Lee.

Lee blinked, stunned. "The one we bought for... for high-value asset transport? For the organ shipments?"

"Bring it."

An hour later, they wheeled it in. It was a sleek, glass-topped pod designed to keep organs or bodies in perfect stasis. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie, stark and clinical against the gloom.

I lifted Elena myself. She felt weightless, like a bird with hollow bones. I placed her on the velvet lining inside the pod.

I arranged her hair, fanning it out like a halo. I folded her hands over her chest, covering the scar.

"Close it," I said.

The glass lid hissed shut. The temperature gauge dropped rapidly. Frost began to form on the edges of the seal, blooming like intricate lace.

She looked like she was sleeping. Like Snow White waiting for a kiss.

But I wasn't the Prince. I was the Witch. And my kiss was poison.

"Take her to the estate," I said, never taking my eyes off her face. "Put her in the wine cellar. Clear out the vintage collection. That room is hers now."

"Boss," Lee said, his voice trembling. "This isn't healthy. You need to grieve."

"I am grieving," I said, placing my hand on the cold glass over her face. "This is my grief. It doesn't end. It just freezes."

I walked out of the hospital into the night air. It was raining again. The city lights blurred into streaks of neon pain.

I had won. I was the Don. I had crushed my enemies. I had the truth.

But as I walked toward my car, I realized I was holding my breath, waiting for the familiar hum of her LVAD pump.

Silence.

It was the loudest silence I had ever heard.