Gianna POV

The antiseptic smell in the underground clinic made me nauseous.

The doctor pulled me into a dim corridor. "Elena's condition is deteriorating rapidly," he whispered, eyes darting toward the corners of the ceiling. "The blood money for subsequent treatments must be secured immediately."

I nodded, my throat a tight knot. There were no tears left. "How long does she have?"

"Forty-eight hours. Maybe less."

I walked into the darkest corners of the city, far beyond the syndicate's monitored territory, and pushed open the grimy glass door of a pawn shop in a black-market blind spot. With methodical movements, I pulled my hood lower and removed my diamond wedding ring. I had spent an hour in a dark alley, scraping the Mafia stamp from the inner band with a small metal file. The heavy stone hit the glass counter with a dull thud.

The fence examined the scarred band, then looked slowly up at my shadowed face. He was a man who recognized desperation when he saw it. He offered an insulting sum—barely enough for two days of black-market medication.

"Take it," I said.

I walked out with a thin envelope of dirty cash. Then I checked my phone. Serena had posted on social media: a limited-edition luxury bag, a smug smile. A generous gift from The Boss. Hard work pays off.

Two days of medication. That was all my wedding ring was worth to the world Julian controlled.

When I returned to Elena's room, the door was open.

Serena stood by the bed, looming over my fragile sister. Julian was right behind her, his presence sucking the warmth from the small room.

"The Don sent me to evaluate the necessity of Elena's continued treatment," Serena announced, her tone dripping with unearned authority.

I looked past her, straight at Julian. "Why do her luxury purchases require no oversight, yet my sister's life-saving funds do?"

Julian frowned. "There is a difference between expenses under the Don's wife's name and what I willingly choose to gift. Serena operates under my direct authority." He handed me a humiliating requisition form—the kind given to low-level associates. "Do not use your own health as leverage, Gianna. These theatrics will not sway me. Fill out the form."

"My health?" I repeated, my hand pressing against my abdomen. Did he know? Had someone told him?

But he wasn't looking at my stomach. He was looking through me, already bored, already turning away.

He escorted Serena out. The air they left behind was thick with cedar cologne and expensive perfume. Serena glanced back at me from the doorway, and for one fraction of a second, her mask slipped. Pure, undisguised triumph. She knew Elena was running out of time. She was counting the hours.

The doctor rushed in before I could process Julian's cruelty. "Her organs are failing. We need emergency surgery right now."

I sat on the cold linoleum floor outside the operating room for three hours, praying to a God I was no longer certain existed.

When the doctor emerged, he looked exhausted. "She is temporarily stabilized, but the black-market medications cannot stop. Her body cannot endure much more trauma. If we don't get the full surgical payment within twenty-four hours, the window closes permanently. "

Twenty-four hours. I had forty-eight dollars left.

Desperate to bring her something warm, I went downstairs to a restaurant near the clinic to buy the cheapest soup they had. I froze at the entrance.

Julian and Serena sat at a candlelit corner table. Wine. Laughter. A jarring counterpoint to the blood and antiseptic I had just left behind.

I walked over, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Serena sat up straight, feigning professionalism. "We are discussing legitimate Family business, Gianna."

"The Don needs no requisition forms to spend his blood money," I said.

Julian slammed his glass down. "I am rewarding Serena for her exceptional service. Stop this, now."

"She is exceptionally good at keeping me begging on my knees."

I turned and walked out. Behind me, I heard Serena's soft, perfectly pitched voice: "She's so unstable lately, Julian. I worry about her mental state. Perhaps she needs rest. Complete rest. Away from stressful environments."

She was laying the groundwork. Soon, Julian would have me confined to the estate for my own good—and Elena would die alone.

Back at the clinic, I sat by Elena's bed, holding her frail hand. Suddenly, fireworks exploded outside the window, painting the dark sky in brilliant gold. I heard two syndicate associates in the hallway.

"Boss Moretti arranged the fireworks," one chuckled. "To honor his favorite liaison."

I opened my phone. Serena had posted a new photo, bathed in the firework's glow. Around her neck hung a rare blood-diamond necklace. I knew that necklace. I had seen it once in Julian's private vault, and he had told me it was a sacred family heirloom, reserved only for the true matriarch of the Moretti clan.

The necklace meant to crown the mother of his heirs. Draped around the neck of the woman murdering his wife's only family.

My fingers moved before I could stop them. I opened our encrypted syndicate messaging app and typed: Thank you for your hard work, Serena. You even get to wear the jewels the Mafia Queen isn't allowed to touch. I hit send and powered off my phone, welcoming the heavy silence.

When I turned it back on, it rang immediately. I heard Serena's theatrical tears through the receiver. "I didn't know Gianna wanted the necklace, Julian. I'm so sorry."

Julian's voice was pure ice. "You are vicious, Gianna. You are humiliating a loyal woman who actually works for The Family. You disgust me."

"Julian, please—Elena needs surgery. Twenty-four hours. I'm begging you—"

The line went dead.

He had hung up. He had hung up while I was begging.

Then the heart monitor screamed.

That shrill, metallic cry cleaved my world in two. The green line flattened into a piercing, horizontal stroke—a line that forever sealed Elena on the other side of it. A sound I would hear every night for the rest of my life.