Chapter 4

The sharp scent of disinfectant stung my nose.

I opened my eyes, not to hell, but to Gavin's exhausted and anxious face.

The moment he saw I was awake, his eyes lit up, only to be replaced by a deeper turmoil.

"Thank God, you're awake," Gavin said, reaching out to touch my forehead.

I turned my head away. His hand froze in mid-air.

"Now that you're awake, Viola, I need you to do something for me," his voice was raspy, laced with a hint of a plea—or maybe it was a command.

I stared at him, the phantom pain of water still in my lungs. I had almost died, and he wasn't even asking if I was okay, just asking for a favor?

"Sofia's not doing well," Gavin said quickly, as if afraid I'd refuse. "The impact from the fall caused internal bleeding in her abdomen. The baby is unstable. We need to operate immediately."

"There are plenty of surgeons in this hospital," I said coldly, my voice like gravel.

"She doesn't trust them! She's been screaming that they'll kill her baby." Gavin grabbed my shoulders, his grip so tight it hurt. "She only trusts you, Viola. You're the best surgeon in New York, and you're my wife. You wouldn't harm the Whitestone heir, would you?"

I looked at him in disbelief.

He left me to die in shark-infested waters to save that woman.

And now he wanted me, who had just been dragged back from death's door, to save the mistress who tried to kill me?

"And if I don't?"

"Viola!" Gavin’s face darkened, his voice taking on the weight of the Godfather. "This is your duty to the Whitestone family. Stop being difficult. Once this child is born, once we have an heir, this will all be over. Sofia will be gone, and we'll go back to how we were, just the two of us. I swear it."

Go back?

Back to the time I foolishly believed he was loyal to me?

I was practically dragged to the operating room by Gavin.

I held the cold scalpel in my hand.

My hand was steady—a professional instinct, even though my body was so weak I could barely stand.

Sofia lay on the table, unconscious from the anesthesia.

As the nurse cut away her gown, revealing her chest, my scalpel stopped dead.

Just below her collarbone, near her heart, was a black tattoo.

It was a blooming black rose entwined with a dagger—the sigil of the Whitestone matriarch.

Only the Godfather's official wife was worthy of that mark.

When Gavin proposed, he had asked me to get it. I was afraid of the pain and refused. He told me it was okay, that he would never do anything to hurt me, and that having my name engraved on his heart was enough.

But now…

"Dr. Rossi?" an assistant asked, looking at me with confusion.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus.

"Hemostat."

The surgery lasted two hours. I worked like a precision machine—cutting, suturing, stopping the bleeding. I wasn't saving her. I was honoring my oath as a doctor.

"The surgery was a success. Mother and child are stable."

The moment I said those words, the doors to the OR were thrown open.

Gavin rushed in. He didn't even glance at me. He went straight to Sofia's bedside, gripping her hand, his eyes red with relief, like a man who'd just pulled his entire world back from the brink.

"You did great, Sofia, you're so strong…" he murmured, as if the screaming woman had been the one fighting for her life on the table.

I leaned against the wall, trying to walk out, but my legs gave out and I collapsed onto the cold tile floor.

The loud thud didn't even make him turn around.

Before I lost consciousness, the last thing I saw was Gavin gently stroking Sofia's stomach.

…

I woke up again in a regular ward.

I was still alone.

A nurse was at the foot of my bed, updating a chart. She glanced at me with a flicker of pity that made my stomach turn. The whole hospital knew the Godfather had nearly killed his wife for his mistress.

"Mrs. Rossi, we need to update your admission form," the nurse said, handing me a pen. "We need to confirm your emergency contact and marital status."

I took the form.

In the "Spouse" field, the name "Gavin Whitestone" was pre-printed.

I picked up the pen and, with all my strength, drew a thick, black line through his name.

Then, beside it, I wrote, letter by letter:

NONE.

Just then, the door opened.

Gavin walked in, carrying a thermos, his face wearing that sickening mask of devotion.

He saw the form in my hand, and his smile froze.

"What are you doing?" Gavin's voice turned cold as a winter sea.

I looked up, handed the form to the nurse, my eyes as still and dead as a frozen lake.

"Just correcting a mistake."