The elevator had been broken for three months, so we climbed the five flights of stairs.

He walked into my apartment, or more accurately, the place I slept.

From the cheap appliances in the kitchen to the canvases stacked by the bedroom door, to the obviously second-hand sofa.

His eyes scanned every inch of the cramped space.

I almost felt apologetic for bringing the great Don Falcone to such a shabby place.

"Not as bad as I imagined. At least it's clean."

"I'm surprised you're not on the streets."

With one hand in his pocket, he ran his other along the wall. "I thought I'd find you begging on some street corner."

I took off my coat. "Disappointed?"

"A little." He turned to face me. "You've managed to hold on to one last shred of dignity. I don't like that."

I endured his insults and walked silently toward the bedroom.

From the bottom drawer of my nightstand, I took out a rusty safe deposit box key and a handwritten letter of authorization on Ricci family letterhead.

"I don't have much to give you, but there's something in here."

I placed the key and the letter in front of him.

"It's the last of my family's 'clean' assets, along with some old secrets about the Torrino family's money laundering routes."

"It should help you with the enemies still circling you."

He didn't even glance at them, his expression growing dangerous.

"You think I give a damn about this garbage?"

He lunged at me, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall.

"Do you really think I need to rely on the scraps of the Ricci family to secure my position now?"

His breath, smelling of whiskey and mint, hit my face.

"What do you take me for? Am I still that same street thug you could buy off for a few thousand in protection money?"

His grip was painful. I tried to push him away, but my arms were already growing weak.

Damn this disease.

"Massimo, that's not what I meant…"

"I'm not trying to buy you," I managed to say. "I just want to offer something of equal value."

"Value?" He let out a cold, chilling laugh.

"The only value you have now is letting me watch you die with my own two eyes."

I gave up trying to explain.

It was pointless. He would never believe me, not a woman who had abandoned him.

"Then let me go," I whispered. "I'm sick. I need to rest."

He released his grip but didn't step back.

"I'm not leaving." He sank onto the sofa as if he owned the place. "I need to make sure you don't run off in the middle of the night."

"Don't worry," I said with a bitter smile. "I can barely climb the stairs. Where would I run to?"

"Even better." He leaned back against the sofa. "Since you love playing this little death game so much, I'll play along."

"But if you're not dead when the time comes, Chiara, you know the consequences."

I smiled too.

Yes, he had power, money, and men.

But I had an ally too. I had Death on my side.

He wanted to go against me? This was one fight he was guaranteed to lose.

When I woke up, Massimo was still sitting on that worn-out sofa.

He hadn't slept, just sat there, staring at me.

"You sat here all night?" I struggled to push myself up from the bed.

"I told you, I'm making sure you don't run." He stood up.

"I have some things to take care of now. You stay put. Don't try any funny business."

It was almost laughable. What could a dying woman do?

The plan had been simple. Massimo would show up to collect my body after I died.

We had agreed to contact each other every three days to confirm I was still breathing.

If I didn't contact him for more than three days, the game was over.

He already had the key to my apartment and would have to come deal with the aftermath.

Even with the autumn chill, the apartment was stuffy. A body wouldn't last long in here.

But he was at my door again the very next day.

"Get dressed. You're coming with me."

"Where are we going?"

"To see your new home."

His expression was cryptic. "Saying I'd sink you in the river... I spoke in anger. I've changed my mind."

"Since you're in such a hurry to see your father, I'll grant your wish."

I knew him too well. He was convinced I was acting, that my claims of dying were a play for sympathy, an attempt to reawaken his pity.

So he was finding new ways to torment me, waiting for me to break and beg.

I had no intention of giving him that satisfaction.

An hour later, we arrived at a place that was once intimately familiar to me.

The Ricci family cemetery.

I was even a little pleasantly surprised.

I had figured that once you're dead, you're dead; it didn't matter where you were buried.

But to be in the family cemetery was, of course, the best possible outcome.

But the deeper we walked, the more shocked I became.

This was our family's most sacred ground, the final resting place for generations of Dons.

Now, it looked like it had been bombed.

Weeds grew wild, sarcophagi had toppled over, and marble tombstones were covered in moss.

Some were even shattered, their fragments scattered across the ground.

"Look at your Ricci's 'eternal kingdom'."

Massimo pulled a document from his breast pocket, unfolding it in front of me.

"A certificate of title," he said. "This place is Falcone property now."

His name and signature were indeed on the document.

"You bought the cemetery?"

"Not just the cemetery." He folded the document. "The entire Ricci family mausoleum, including all the bones inside, is now my property."

It was the ultimate humiliation for the Ricci family.

"I was thinking of leveling it to build a garbage incinerator."

"But I've changed my mind."

"Since you're so eager to die, I'll let you keep your useless father company."

I stared silently at the broken tombstones.

The Ricci dynasty, which once held the entire East Coast in its grip, couldn't even protect its dead now.

This was the fate of the vanquished.

Massimo was waiting for me to lose control, to break down in tears.

But to his disappointment, I simply nodded. "It's quiet here. A good place for a long rest."

"A smart investment," I noted. "Cemeteries hold their value."

"You're still fucking acting!"

My calm was the one thing that truly enraged him.

He strode toward the largest mausoleum and kicked the stone lion at its entrance with his Italian leather shoes.

"Your father's lying in there. Don Antonio Ricci, the 'Don'."

"Now he's just a pile of moldy bone dust."

He pointed to my father's black sarcophagus deep inside the crypt, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Tell me, Principessa, where do you want to be buried?"

"Next to your old man, or should I throw his bones to the wild dogs to make room for you?"

I gave the question serious thought.

"Next to him is fine. I don't want to be crammed in with him."

His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked, veins bulging on his arms.

"Since you're so determined to be difficult, I'll give you a taste of a living hell!"

He seized my wrist, his grip strong enough to shatter bone.

"There's a good place for tonight. A little preview of what real suffering feels like."

He practically dragged me into the car. We ended up in a nondescript warehouse district in Brooklyn.

A few bodyguards, built like bears, stood at the entrance, the outlines of firearms clearly visible under their suits.

This was Massimo's most bloody and lavish underground fight club.

From inside came a deafening roar: shouts, curses, and the sickening thud of fists on flesh.

The air was thick with the smell of sweat, blood, and money.

Massimo led me to a VIP box overlooking the entire fighting ring.

"Sit." He pointed to a red velvet chair. "You're the guest of honor tonight."

Through the bulletproof glass, I watched the bloody spectacle below.

Two fighters, covered in wounds, were locked in a life-or-death battle, their blood splattering across the canvas of the ring.

The box was filled with Massimo's core members and business partners.

I recognized a few faces. None of them were friendly.

"Gentlemen!"

Massimo stood up, raising his glass.

"Allow me to introduce a special guest!"

"The last princess of the Ricci family, Chiara."

The box erupted with jeers and crude catcalls.

Their eyes were like daggers, carving into me, filled with hatred and contempt for the Ricci name.

I had become a living trophy for Massimo to display his power and savor his revenge.

My hands began to tremble uncontrollably.

The ALS was making my nerves betray me, my muscles spasming violently.

Massimo, sitting in the seat of honor, likely thought I was scared out of my wits, a smug look on his face.

Just as I was about to collapse, the door to the box was kicked open with a bang.

"That's enough, Massimo!"

A man strode in, followed by four well-trained bodyguards in black suits.

My ex-husband, the heir to the Thorne family.

His custom suit was immaculate, his posture elegant, but he radiated an unapproachable coldness.

"She is, by name, still a Thorne. You have no right to humiliate her like this!"

Massimo slowly rose to his feet, his expression sour.

"Right? Don't you forget whose turf you're on!"

"I am the only law here."

The atmosphere in the box crackled with tension.

Bodyguards on both sides reached for their guns, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

"Let her go!" Julian commanded, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument.

"You're the one who should get the hell out!" Massimo shot back.

Neither man was willing to back down.

Honestly, I wanted to tell them it wasn't worth two Dons coming to blows over me. A woman with one foot in the grave.

It wasn't worth it.

But my breathing grew tighter, my lungs feeling as if they were being squeezed by a vise.

The world began to spin, the ground swaying beneath my feet.

My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the floor.

Chaos erupted. In the shouting, no one noticed me at first.

The sound of a chair falling.

Someone shouting my name.

And then, only darkness.

Until a young server shrieked:

"Stop! Everyone, stop!"

"Miss Ricci... I... I don't think she's breathing!"