The cardiac monitor screamed—a single, unyielding note that cut through the sterile air.

I spun around. The nurse in the donation room dropped her clipboard, the plastic clattering loudly against the floor.

"Code Blue!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "We're losing the donor!"

I ran into the room. Elena was lying on the gurney, her head lolled to the side. Her skin was translucent, waxy and blue-tinged around the lips. She looked like a broken doll that had been discarded.

"Stop the draw!" I roared.

The nurse yanked the needle from Elena's arm, but blood didn't flow. Her heart had stopped.

"Defibrillator!" the doctor shouted, rushing in.

They worked on her. One shock. Two. Three. Her body jerked with the electricity, a grotesque mimicry of life, lifting off the mattress before collapsing back down with a heavy thud.

But the monitor stayed a flat, green line.

"Time of death, 11:42 PM," the doctor said, his voice heavy with defeat.

I stood frozen. Dead? Just like that? From a blood donation? It didn't make sense. She was young. She should have been able to handle a pint or two.

I walked over to the counter where her file lay open. I needed to understand. I picked up the chart the intake nurse had hurriedly printed from the state database.

My eyes scanned the page. My breath caught in my throat, choking me.

*Patient: Xiang Wanning (Elena).*

*Diagnosis: Pancreatic Adenocarcinoma. Stage IV. Metastatic.*

*Prognosis: Terminal.*

The paper shook in my hands. Cancer. She was dying. She had been dying this whole time. And yet, she had given the last drops of her life to save the woman who took her place.

"Matteo?"

Dante's voice came from the doorway. Instinct took over; I shoved the file behind my back. He stood there, looking exhausted but relieved.

"The doctor says Sofia is stabilizing," Dante said. "The transfusion worked."

He looked past me at the figure on the gurney. The nurse had pulled a sheet up, covering Elena's face.

"Is she done?" Dante asked.

He didn't ask how she was. He asked if the transaction was complete.

I looked at the sheet. Underneath it lay the girl we had grown up with. The girl who used to chase fireflies in the garden. The girl who had just sacrificed everything for a man who hated her.

If I told him now... if I told him he had just ordered the execution of a terminally ill woman who loved him... it would break him. And we had a war to win. We had a family to run.

"Yes, Boss," I said, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. "She's done. She's just... resting. The sedative knocked her out."

Dante nodded, already turning away. "Good. Pay her double. Make sure she's on a plane tomorrow. I don't want to see her at the wedding."

He walked out.

I waited until his footsteps faded down the corridor. Then I turned back to the doctor.

"Process the death certificate," I whispered. "Cause of death: Cardiac arrest due to complications from... just put cardiac arrest. And keep this file closed. No one sees it. No one."

I pulled the sheet back down. Elena's face was peaceful for the first time in years. I reached into the pocket of her discarded jeans on the chair. I found a crumpled brochure.

*Aspen Sky Sanctuary. Return to the wind.*

I closed my eyes. I will take you, Elena. I will take you to your mountain.

Matteo POV

I told Dante I needed forty-eight hours.

A personal matter. A family emergency.

He didn't even question me; he was too busy hovering over Sofia's recovery bed, playing the devoted fiancé to perfection.

I took the company jet. Not for business, but for a funeral of one.

Secured in the cargo hold was a plain wooden box containing the ashes of Elena. I couldn't bring myself to bury her in the family plot. Salvatore would unearth her just to spit on her bones.

She deserved better than that. She deserved the sky.

We landed in Aspen as the sun was just rising over the peaks. The air was crisp and thin, biting at my lungs with every inhale.

I rented a jeep and drove to the coordinates on the brochure I had found in her pocket.

It was a high ridge, accessible only by a narrow, winding trail.

I hiked the last mile, carrying the box against my chest. My breath plumed in the cold air like smoke.

It was silent up here. Profoundly silent. No city noise. No gunfire. No accusations.

A man was waiting for me. He wore simple robes, not quite a priest, but a guide.

"You are the one for Xiang Wanning?" he asked.

"Yes."

He nodded and gently took the box.

"She wrote to me months ago," he said softly. "She said she wanted to be where the snow never melts. She said she was tired of the heat."

He opened the box. The ash was gray and impossibly fine.

The wind picked up, howling through the crags. The guide began to chant something low and rhythmic, a sound that vibrated in the thin air. He stepped to the edge of the cliff.

With a fluid motion, he cast the contents of the box into the air.

The wind caught her.

For a moment, the ash hung suspended, a gray cloud against the blinding blue sky. Then, it dispersed.

She was everywhere. And she was gone.

"She had a pure soul," the guide said, watching the dust settle on the snow far below. "To give oneself to the wind requires a heart that holds no weight. No hate."

I felt a lump harden in my throat.

No hate.

After everything we did to her. After the beatings, the insults, the servitude. She died saving Sofia. She died saving Dante's happiness.

I stood there for a long time, watching the eagles circle the void.

I realized then that we were the villains in her story.

We thought we were the righteous punishers, the avenging angels. But we were just monsters breaking a dying saint.

Eventually, I turned back to the trail. I had to go back to New York. I had to go back to the lie.

"Goodbye, Elena," I whispered into the wind. "You're finally free of us."

Dante POV

The wedding was supposed to be today.

Instead, the Great Hall stood silent and empty. The flowers were already wilting in their vases, drooping like heads bowed in mourning. The guests had been called and told there was a delay due to the bride's health.

Sofia was recovering well. Too well.

She was sitting up in bed, flipping through bridal magazines, complaining about the scar the surgery would leave on her arm.

"It ruins the symmetry," she whined, tracing the bandage with a manicured nail.

I stood by the window, looking out at the lawn where the tent was supposed to be. I felt... hollow.

It wasn't the panic of almost losing Sofia. That had faded the moment the doctor said she would live.

This was something else. A gnawing, cold emptiness in the center of my chest. It felt like I had forgotten something important, like leaving the house without your keys, but a thousand times worse—like waking up and realizing a limb was missing.

I walked into my study and poured a drink. The amber liquid hit the glass with a heavy splash. Matteo was standing there, looking like he hadn't slept in a week.

"You're back," I said.

"Yes, Boss."

"Is everything handled?"

Matteo nodded. He knew I wasn't talking about his family emergency. I was talking about the loose end. The Rat.

"She's gone?" I asked.

Matteo hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. "She's gone, Dante. She took the money. She left the country. You won't see her again."

I took a sip of the scotch. It burned, but not enough.

"Good."

"We need to reschedule the date," Matteo said, shifting topics. "Sofia wants a spring wedding now."

"No," I said abruptly.

Matteo looked up, startled. "No?"

"Not here," I said, my voice tight. "I don't want it here. The estate... it smells like smoke. It smells like the past."

"Where then?"

"Aspen," I said. The word came out before I even thought it.

Matteo went rigid. "Aspen?"

"Yes. The mountains. Clean air. Snow," I listed, needing the cold to numb the fire in my head. "We'll do it there. Next month. Book the lodge."

"Dante," Matteo said carefully. "Are you sure? That's... far."

I slammed the glass down, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Just do it, Matteo! Why does everyone question me?"

I walked to the window again. My reflection stared back at me—a man who had everything. Power. Money. The beautiful fiancée. The revenge complete.

So why did I feel like I was bleeding out?

"Where did she go, Matteo?" I asked quietly, my back to him. "Specifically?"

Matteo didn't answer for a long time. When he did, his voice was as cold as the grave.

"She went to the sky, Dante. She just... took to the sky."