This was a private hospital controlled by the Morano family.
The corridor was eerily quiet.
The overhead incandescent lights emitted a faint hum, like some kind of dying whisper.
Hidden cameras were installed in the corners.
Two men in black stood at the end of the corridor, their suits open, the butts of guns gleaming at their waists.
This wasn't a hospital.
It was a place the Mafia used for dealing with things that "couldn't be seen in the light of day."
And Dante sat on a bench.
Dante Valente
He remained calm and composed, as if nothing had happened.
Seraphine Morano leaned on his shoulder.
She was pale, her breathing weak, like a wounded animal.
But her hand gripped his clothes tightly.
That dependence stung my eyes.
I died in the rain.
She lay in his arms.
Then, Dante's phone rang.
A name appeared on the screen.
Donna Lucia.
The true head of the Valente family.
The call connected.
"Adriana hasn't returned to the manor?"
Her voice was calm, yet carried a commanding pressure.
Dante frowned, his tone clearly impatient.
"She's throwing a tantrum."
"I'm with Seraphine at the hospital."
"She did it on purpose."
He said this without even a pause.
As if I, from the very beginning, wasn't worth explaining myself to.
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
Then the call ended.
Dante's face darkened.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket, his knuckles tightening slightly.
The air was heavy.
Even his subordinates at the end of the corridor didn't dare look at him.
"Adriana thinks too highly of herself."
"Just because she's pregnant, she thinks she can control me."
"This time, I won't go to her."
"Let her learn her lesson."
Every word was like a knife.
Unfortunately, I had no heart left to be stabbed.
Seraphine looked up at him. A flicker of almost undisguised smugness flashed in her eyes.
But she quickly concealed it, adopting a submissive demeanor.
Her fingers gently rested on his shoulder.
Then, they traced his Adam's apple.
Stopped on his arm.
The movement was too practiced.
As if rehearsed countless times.
“Dante… don’t be angry.”
“It’s all my fault.”
“I shouldn’t have let you come with me.”
Her voice was soft, tinged with just the right amount of guilt.
Dante almost instinctively pulled her into his arms.
“It’s not your fault.”
“She doesn’t deserve it.”
Not deserve it.
I looked at him from the air.
Suddenly, I wanted to laugh.
So, in his eyes, my life wasn’t even a “mistake.”
Just “unworthy.”