Chapter Sixteen —

Dante pov

The plane touched down in Bangkok just before dawn.

I hadn’t slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, my chest tightened not from pain, but from the weight of the choice I had already made.

Leaving my city felt wrong. Like turning my back on a loaded weapon and trusting it not to fire.

I didn’t trust anything that much.

The humid air hit the moment the jet door opened. Thick. Heavy. It clung to my skin like a warning. My lungs worked harder, dragging in air that smelled of fuel, rain, and something sharp I couldn’t name.

Luca stepped onto the tarmac behind me. Two guards followed.

“She stayed back,” he said before I could ask. “Doctors didn’t want her flying. Too much risk.”

I nodded once.

I hadn’t argued. I didn’t trust myself too.

My chest fluttered an ugly, uneven rhythm that made my jaw tighten. No pain yet. Just the reminder.

We moved fast.

The convoy cut through the city as the sky lightened, neon signs still buzzing above empty streets. Monks walked barefoot along the sidewalks, heads bowed, calm in a way that irritated me. Life moved easily here. As if death didn’t stalk men quietly.

The hospital rose ahead of us glass and steel, cold and flawless.

Private. Controlled. Expensive.

Good.

Inside, the silence pressed in. Not comforting. Observant. The kind of quiet built for people who counted heartbeats for a living.

Doctors waited. Crisp coats. Steady hands. Faces trained not to flinch.

One stepped forward, eyes sharp. “Mr. Caruso. Welcome.”

I inclined my head.

“We’ll begin immediately,” he said. “There’s no reason to delay.”

“Good,” I replied. “I didn’t come to waste time.”

They led me through long corridors into a diagnostic wing that smelled of antiseptic and money. Machines hummed softly. Screens flickered with data I watched closely.

I hated not knowing.

Blood drawn. Scans taken. Electrodes pressed to my skin. Needles slid in and out without ceremony.

I watched every number.

Every flicker.

Fear wasn’t the pain.

Fear was uncertainty.

The lead doctor finally turned to me.

“Your condition is severe.”

I gave a faint smile. “That’s not new.”

“But it isn’t irreversible.”

That was.

****************

“There is a procedure,” he continued. “Experimental. High risk. But we’ve had success with patients in similar stages.”

“Define success.”

He met my gaze evenly. “You live.”

Silence stretched.

“What’s the cost?” I asked.

“You might not,” he said honestly.

Good. I respected honesty.

“How soon?”

“We prepare immediately. Surgery within forty-eight hours.”

“Odds?”

He hesitated. “Sixty percent.”

A short laugh escaped me. “You dragged me across the world for a coin toss.”

“It’s better than certainty,” he replied.

He wasn’t wrong.

They moved me to a private suite overlooking the city. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Too peaceful. I didn’t like peace.

Once the door closed, Luca spoke. “You don’t have to decide yet.”

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

“You could stabilize first.”

“I don’t have time.”

He studied me. “You’re afraid.”

“Of dying?” I scoffed. “No.”

“Of surviving,” he corrected. “Because then everything changes.”

He was right.

Power was easier when you believed the end was near.

Hope for complicated things.

My phone vibrated.

Elara.

I stared at the screen longer than I should have.

Elara: How are you feeling?

A pause.

Elara: Please don’t scare me.

My jaw tightened.

I didn’t reply.

If I did, I might hesitate.

A nurse entered with medication, new ones, stronger.

“These will stabilize you before surgery.”

I took them without comment.

Minutes later, nausea hit hard. My stomach twisted violently. I barely made it to the sink before my body convulsed. Pain tore through my chest, sharp enough to steal breath.

“Call the doctor,” Luca snapped.

I gripped the counter, teeth clenched, breathing shallow.

This was what I’d come for.

Pain.

Risk.

The doctor rushed in, checking monitors.

“His rhythm is unstable.”

“We need to move quickly.”

“Prep the OR.”

My vision blurred at the edges.

I straightened slowly, forcing control where my body offered none.

“Do it,” I said. “Now.”

They moved fast. Too fast.

The bed. The lights. The cold.

As they wheeled me toward the operating wing, my phone buzzed again in my hand.

One message.

Elara: Come back to us.

My chest tightened not from sickness this time.

From something far worse.

Hope.

The doors to the operating room swung open.

Alarms shrilled.

Sharp. Merciless.

“Heart rate dropping”

Pain exploded through me, white and blinding.

I gripped the edge of the bed as darkness rushed in.

Not now.

Not before my son is born.

And the last thing I thought of

was her voice telling me to come back.