DONICO
"I told you," I said more slowly, voice lowering, "you are not required there. Go back. Finish your work."
His jaw tightened.
For a second, I almost thought he would listen.
Then he spoke again.
"My wife is in danger, sir. If you didn’t hear the first ti, I’m going to say it again. My wife, the woman I married is in danger. I don’t care about anything else right now, I have to be here if I want to protect her."
Silence.
The word sat between us like sothing alive.
Wife.
He had said it deliberately.
He wasn’t asking anymore.
He was claiming.
"I haven’t been breathing properly since I got her call last night," he continued, voice steady now, "so I can’t be anywhere else right now."
Elisa shifted behind him, nervous energy building.
Paolo stepped forward slightly.
"She needs . And I’m not going to abandon my wife for your tasks, sir."
The room went completely still.
"I’ve already given up a lot for this family," he added, quieter now but sharper, "for this work, boss."
My blood cooled.
"But not my wife."
That last sentence was the trigger.
Sothing in broke cleanly.
Not loud. Not dramatic. Just final.
My hand moved before thought finished forming.
The dagger was already in my grip.
Elisa’s scream pierced the room the mont steel left leather.
"Paolo, no—!"
But I had already moved.
The first stab drove into his stomach. Not hesitation. Not warning. Just precision.
Paolo’s body jolted, breath tearing out of him in a low, guttural sound.
His hand flew down instantly, instinct taking over.
I pulled the blade out.
Blood followed.
And I drove it in again.
Lower. Harder.
Elisa scread louder this ti, rushing forward but stopping halfway as if reality itself had slapped her back.
"Paolo!" she cried. "Dad, please stop! You’re hurting him!"
He staggered back a step, eyes widening slightly now, not from fear, but from shock.
Then he exhaled sharply through clenched teeth.
Blood soaked through his shirt imdiately, dark and spreading fast.
I stepped back. My chest was rising too quickly. What the hell have I done?
"Get out of my face," I barked, voice rougher now.
Paolo stayed upright.
Barely.
One hand pressed firmly against his stomach. The other trembled slightly at his side.
Elisa grabbed him, panicked.
But then he smiled. That small, faint, almost absurd smile.
"It’s okay," he said hoarsely. "I’m fine."
He looked at her. Not . Her.
"Let’s go see Reina."
My stomach tightened violently.
Reina again.
Even bleeding, even stabbed, even standing on borrowed ti...
Still her.
He began walking. Elisa supported him, crying quietly now, whispering his na over and over like it could hold him together.
The door closed behind them. The sound echoed. Then silence.
I stood there for a long mont, staring at the empty space they left behind. Then I drove my fist into the nearest thing, punching the wall over and over again.
The plaster cracked under my fist. Blood sared across white paint.
My breathing was uneven now. Not from exertion. From sothing I refused to na.
I turned slowly back to my desk. My other hand was still wrapped around the dagger.
I didn’t rember holding onto it this long. I sat down.
Set it beside the keyboard. Then I looked at the monitor again.
Reina’s face stared back at .
Soft. Unaware. Still mine in ways she did not understand yet.
I leaned forward slightly.
My bloodied fingers hovered over the screen.
"If I can’t have you willingly," I said quietly into the empty room, "I will remove whatever stands between us. And if I have to kill my son just to have you, so be it."
REINA
My scream tore through the apartnt like shattered glass, echoing off the walls long after it left my throat.
For one suffocating second, I couldn’t breathe.
I stared at the vicious wound carved across Paolo’s side, raw, angry, and swollen. Thick, uneven stitches pulled the torn flesh together like so brutal attempt at sewing a broken doll. Deep purple bruising blood beneath his pale skin, spreading outward like spilled ink. Blood still seeped slowly from the edges.
This was Paolo.
My gentle, soft-spoken Paolo.
The man who kissed my forehead like it was holy ground.
And soone had sliced him open like a fucking at.
"Jesus Christ..." My voice cracked, trembling violently. "Paolo... oh my God."
He caught my wrists before my fingers could reach the horror on his body, his grip surprisingly firm despite his condition.
"Baby, don’t panic."
"Don’t panic?" I nearly shrieked, hysteria rising in my chest. "You’re cut open like a fucking animal!"
"I’m stitched up," he said, trying to sound calm.
"That is not the sa thing!"
Even now, bleeding and pale, he gave the faintest, crooked smile.
"I missed you yelling at like this."
My eyes instantly burned with hot tears. I hated how he could still joke. I hated how weak he looked. I hated how much I still loved him.
"Sit back down, Gianpaolo Gravano!" I ordered, voice shaking.
"Reina, I’m—"
"Sit the fuck down before I shove you."
He blinked, then slowly lowered himself onto the couch with a suppressed grimace.
I rushed to the bathroom, hands trembling so badly I nearly dropped everything. Antiseptic, gauze, tape, clean towels, I grabbed it all in a frantic ss and hurried back.
When I returned, he was leaning back carefully, one hand pressed lightly over the bandage. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing was shallow.
He was in real pain.
And still trying to hide it from .
I knelt between his spread thighs and set the supplies on the coffee table. My hands shook as I soaked a cloth with antiseptic.
"How did this happen?"
He looked away.
"Paolo."
A slow, pained exhale. "I provoked my father."
Rage exploded through so violently the room tilted.
"You argued with him... and he stabbed you?"
"Sotis that’s how it goes."
"No." My voice was ice and fire at once. "That is not normal. That is abuse."
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