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“Lunetta.” Her name rips from my throat.

My hands hover before they land—one on her cheek, ice-cold and clammy. The other on her wrist, searching for a pulse.

She’s still breathing.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my fingers trembling. “Enzo. Call the doctor. Now.”

He’s still standing there.

“Enzo!” I bark, louder this time, and he jolts to life, pulling his phone from his pocket with shaky hands.

I press two fingers gently against the side of her neck, counting. The beat is shallow. Her skin’s covered in a cold sweat. Her lips are tinged with blue.

“She’s crashing,” I breathe. “She’s lost too much blood.”

I tear the blanket off the bed and press it to the worst of the wounds at her side. She doesn’t even groan.

“No. No, no, no.”

This wasn’t the plan.

“Don’t you fucking dare die on me,” I whisper, voice low and shaking.

I lean over her, press my forehead to hers, feeling how wrong her body is—too cold, too still. “Dio… Dio, ti prego…” God, please. Just this once. Please. I know what I am. I know I don’t deserve mercy. But she does. She does.

Enzo is pacing now, shouting into the phone. I can’t make out the words, too caught in the sound of her breath—fragile, paper-thin, like a candle threatening to go out.

“Hang on,” I murmur, fingers brushing blood-matted curls from her forehead. “Just hang on, ragazza. I swear to you… if you make it through this…”

I can’t even finish it. I don’t know what I’m promising.

But I mean it. Whatever it is.

Enzo spins back into the room, face pale. “Doctor’s on his way. Fifteen minutes. He’s prepping his team.”

Fifteen minutes is too fucking long.

“Get towels. Alcohol. Scissors. Anything,” I snap.

He bolts again, and I press harder on the wound, muttering under my breath, a string of words that sound too much like prayers for a man who doesn’t believe in anything.

Don’t die on me, Lunetta.

Chapter Eighteen – Lunetta

My knees press into cold marble. The stone feels wet beneath my skin, though I know it’s only my fevered sweat. My hands tremble where they’re clasped together, knuckles white, rosary caught between my fingers.

"Mi perdonerai ancora, vero? Mi darai ancora una seconda possibilità? Ho peccato... non sono degna di essere chiamata tua figlia."

You’ll still forgive me, right? You’ll still give me a second chance?

A shiver runs through me.

"Santa Madre... abbi pietà di me. Ti prego, salvami. Dammi solo un'altra possibilità."

Dear Mother… have mercy on me.Please save me. Just one more chance.

A single tear falls. It lands on my wrist, warm against my chilled skin.