Chapter 2

With no family member beside me, I had to sign the informed-consent form acknowledging the risks myself, my hand shaking the entire time.

"Ms. Moretti, the puncture will be extremely painful. Local anesthetic may not block the deep pressure as the needle passes between the vertebrae, and changes in spinal-fluid pressure can hurt. If it becomes unbearable, cry out." The doctor sighed as he picked up a steel needle nearly four inches long.

To avoid putting pressure on the gunshot wound in my chest, I had to hold an extremely awkward, physically draining position the entire time.

When the long needle pierced my skin and muscle and slid between my vertebrae into the spinal canal, pain detonated through my body.

"Ngh..."

I bit down on my lip so hard it bled.

In the bed next to mine, a young woman was undergoing a similar procedure. Her husband held her tightly, kissing away her tears, murmuring softly, "Baby, I'm here. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt..."

And me?

I was a terminal cancer patient counting down my last days, with no one left to love her.

By the time I finally endured the agonizing procedure and the nurses wheeled me back to my room, the sky outside had gone completely dark.

I lay alone in the empty hospital room. Eric never came back.

No phone call. No text. He hadn't even sent one of his men to check on me.

Remembering his earnest promise to "come back early for dinner," I felt like an absolute fool.

At two in the morning, waves of crushing headaches surged one after another, relentless as the tide. The tumor in my brain was pressing against my nerves with a vengeance.

The pain made sleep impossible. All I could do was pick up my phone with trembling hands and open the encrypted photo album.

Inside were ten years of memories with Eric.

Eight years ago, we'd hidden from enemies in an abandoned warehouse in Queens. It was freezing. Our bodies were numb with cold, and all we could do was hold each other under a single moldy blanket, surviving on a can of expired, ice-cold beans. Eric's teeth chattered so hard he could barely speak, but he still held me tight, shielding me with his body. "Selena," he'd said, "when I become Don, I'll feed you the finest foie gras every damn day and dress you in the prettiest dresses."

Five years ago, I took a bullet to my left shoulder that nearly cost me my arm. On the grimy leather couch of a back-alley clinic, Eric wept like a little boy who'd lost his favorite toy. He knelt in front of me, kissing my blood-soaked bandages over and over, sobbing and begging me not to leave him. He said I was a part of him and that without me, he couldn't survive a single day.

So why, now that he finally had power and status, had he become so cold?

While I was lost in the pain of those memories, my phone screen suddenly lit up.

An unknown number had sent me a video.

I opened it.

The footage showed an opulent revolving restaurant high above the city. Eric and Angelina sat together beside the windows.

Angelina wore a red couture gown, looking every bit the haughty queen, ordering Eric to cut the steak on her plate.

Eric showed no displeasure. Instead, his expression was tender, almost submissively eager to please, as he fed the neatly sliced steak to her lips. Angelina giggled and playfully pinched his chin. Then she splashed the rest of her wine across his expensive suit.

In the video, Eric didn't get angry. He wrapped his arm around Angelina's waist with an indulgent smile and pressed a hard kiss to her lips.

Then came a message, dripping with arrogance:

[See that, Selena? The man you nearly died protecting is nothing but an obedient dog in front of me. I heard you took another bullet for him? What a pathetic, worthless gutter rat. If you know what's good for you, get out of the Moretti house. Next Wednesday is my wedding to Eric. I don't want any disgusting trash ruining my appetite.]

I stared at the message. I watched Eric in the video, leaning in to kiss Angelina. My stomach churned violently.

I didn't cry. I didn't even feel angry.

When a person has given up all hope in someone, they can't cry.

I didn't sleep that night.