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Chapter Twenty-Three

Dante

E very minute that Francesca remains unconscious pushes me closer to the edge of madness.

The house feels like a tomb without her.

Her absence echoes in every hallway, every room she once walked through, barefoot and half smiling.

It’s not just me unraveling. The children are scared and grieving.

Grieving a woman who isn’t gone but isn’t here either.

A woman they’ve come to see as their mother, who lies motionless in a sterile hospital bed while their questions go unanswered.

The doctors are cautiously optimistic. They say her body is healing.

That the surgery went well. That removing the spleen saved her life.

But she hasn’t opened her eyes. She hasn’t spoken my name.

And I can’t stop fearing that some part of her slipped away in that car, that she left me behind in the wreckage.

Lucia clings to Nina and cries at night. Alessio begs to see her, to hold her hand, to hear her voice and prove to himself she’s still real. But I can’t bring him here. Not yet. Not like this. Seeing her so still, so pale, it would destroy him.

And truth be told, I’m not home enough to offer comfort. I can’t be. I spend most of my time here, crumpled into a plastic chair that’s far too small for a man like me, because I need to be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. I need her to know she wasn’t alone. Not for a second.

I hold her hand through every shift change. I talk to her until my voice gives out. I press kisses to her fingers, her forehead, the inside of her wrist, desperate to breathe life back into her with each one.

But everything shifts when my phone vibrates against the plastic chair.

A single message, just a few words. I’ve got him.

Fulvio, the rat who betrayed me. The man who tried to murder my son. Who left Francesca bleeding out on a road she never should’ve been on. Who dared to touch what is mine.

I shoot up from my chair so abruptly that the nurse beside me startles, knocking over a clipboard.

“I’ ll be back in a few hours,” I say, my voice like ice.

She nods, probably wondering what could make a man look like that, like he’s ready to raze the world. But she doesn’t ask, and I don’t explain.

Because no one needs to know that I’m about to spend the next few hours breaking someone, and I won’t feel a single drop of guilt, only joy, because vengeance has never felt so earned.

The warehouse reeks of rust and blood and dust. Familiar. Comforting, even, like the calm that comes before the storm, the kind of calm I grew up in. The kind that makes men into monsters.

They’re already waiting when I get there.

Bruno stands by the door, his arms crossed, eyes shadowed and hard. Vito leans against a pillar, pale and grim. The guilt hasn’t left his face since the moment he realized what Fulvio tried to do, what he almost succeeded in doing.

And in the center of the room, bound to a chair with blood crusting his lip and one eye swollen shut, is Fulvio.

My hand clenches around the grip of my knife as I step forward.

“She’s alive,” I say coldly, crouching in front of him. “You failed.”

He gives a raspy cough of a laugh, his lips curling despite the bruises. “What a pity.”

I see red. My hand lifts on instinct, but I stop, just for a second. Not for him but for her, for Alessio, and then I drive the blade into his side without hesitation.

He gasps, body jerking, the chair scraping across the concrete.

“You tried to kill my son.”

He smiles, his teeth coated with blood. “A weak boy with a weak father who wept and hid behind a woman.” He spits on the floor, his saliva red on the concrete.

“My son is not weak; he’s strong—the kind of strength that scared men like you can never understand.”

“Men like me?”

“Yes, men who go after women and children.”

“I wanted to hit where it hurt, Dante Forzi, so you would get a taste of your own medicine.”

“You’re working with Salvatore,” I say. It’s not a question. “You betrayed us.” Then I stab him in the leg.

“You never gave me a choice.” Fulvio spits, his jaw trembling from the pain. “No matter what I did, I was always just a made man to you. Always overlooked. Always expendable.”

I rise slowly, wiping the blade on his shirt, the crimson streak bright against the fabric. My voice is low and tight. “You had a place. You had a purpose. And you chose to burn it to the ground.”

He chuckles bitterly, his breath catching with agony. “I was loyal. I took the beatings. I bled for you. And what did I get? Babysitting duties. Playing lapdog to that Vescari whore.”

“You mean my wife? The woman who saved my son’s life?”

He bares his teeth. “She didn’t save your son. I missed. That’s all.”

My stomach turns, but I don’t flinch. I can’t. Not now .

“I gave you everything I could,” I say. “But respect is earned, Fulvio. And you lost mine the moment you pointed a gun at a child.”

Fulvio’s face twists. “You think this is just about me? About status?” His grin is feral. “You’re blind, Dante. You think you’re better because you’ve found your balls and a woman to love? Salvatore will find someone else. And I was just the beginning.”

I lean in, my face inches from his, and he falters for the first time. “You’ll tell me everything I want to know, and you’ll do it in front of the council,” I growl.

Fulvio shifts his gaze, not to me, but to Vito, who’s standing frozen behind me, pale as ash.

His eyes glint with malice. “Yes, take me to the council. I can't wait to tell them everything. Want to know where I got your secrets, boss? The ones about your warehouses, the drops, the times you’d be weakest?” He smirks, bloody and gleeful.

“Your second-in-command moaned them into my mouth. Every time I had my cock down his throat, every time he bent me over and begged for it like the needy little whore he is.”

Vito makes a choked sound behind me, like a wound torn open without warning.

I freeze. I knew, but I didn't want confirmation like that.

“I didn’t even have to ask most of the time,” Fulvio continues. “He gave it all up, whispering sweet nothings while he fucked me like the pathetic, closeted piece of shit he is. And after? He cried. Every single time. Because he knew he wasn’t your equal. Just a hole. Just?—”

I raise my gun and fire .

The shot rings out like thunder in the warehouse, echoing against steel beams and concrete. Fulvio slumps, mouth still parted in that hateful grin, the back of his skull painted across the floor.

Bruno exhales behind me. Vito doesn’t move.

I don’t regret it. Not for a fucking second. Even if it means I don’t have the power to take Salvatore out yet. Fulvio would’ve sold us all out just to humiliate the man I once thought might have betrayed me.

I holster my gun and turn to Vito.

“I’m not ready to forgive you,” I say. “But you’re still mine. And I won’t let him use your shame to burn this family.”

Vito’s eyes fill just slightly. “Thank you, Dante. I…”

I look back at Fulvio’s corpse. “Your mistakes don’t disappear,” I say quietly. “But they don’t define you either. Clean this up. Then we go to war.”

“One down,” I murmur. “Now it’s Mori’s turn.”

And after that? Salvatore. I’ll have him. I’ll have every last one of them.

Because I swear on her blood, I will make the world bleed for what they tried to take from me.

I leave without looking back, but I hear Bruno’s footsteps behind me, steady and close.

At the car, I stop, exhaling hard. “She’s still unconscious.”

When he doesn’t respond, I glance over my shoulder.

“He was your only asset against Salvatore,” he says at last.

“For now.”

He frowns. “I don’t follow.”

“Don’t you?” I arch a brow. “Vito made a mistake. But he’s been with me longer than anyone. Love… desire… they can twist your thinking, fog your judgment. He’s paid for it. His death won’t bring her peace. And it sure as hell won’t fix what’s broken.”

“You should show her this side of you.”

“What side?” I ask flatly.

“The side that chooses loyalty over ego. That values honor and friendship over vengeance.”

I pause, my jaw tight. “That side of me only exists because of her. I need to go home.” I scrub a hand down my face. “See the kids. Shower. Change.”

Bruno nods once, understanding in his eyes. “I’ll go back to the hospital. Sit with her.”

I meet his gaze. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

The ride back is quiet, hollow. Like the city itself knows what was almost lost.

By the time I walk through the front door, the house feels different, too clean, too quiet.

The scent of antiseptic still clings to my skin beneath the metallic tang of dried blood.

I head straight to the shower, scrubbing until my knuckles sting, until the hot water runs cold, and I can almost pretend I’m clean again.

I dress slowly in the dark, tugging on soft jeans and a plain black dress shirt. When I emerge, my aunt is in the kitchen, making tea the way she always does when things feel too big to handle.

She turns at the sound of my footsteps, her eyes soft but her lips pursed, and I know she’s worried even if she doesn’t say it. “Lucia’s in her room. She wouldn’t sleep. Said she was waiting for you.”

My throat tightens. I nod and head upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

I find her sitting on the floor by her bed, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape, a stuffed rabbit clutched tight to her chest. Her eyes are puffy, her bottom lip wobbling the second she sees me.

“Papa,” she whispers, her voice so small it nearly breaks me in two.

I drop to my knees in front of her, and she launches into my arms without hesitation, burying her face in my shoulder.

“Cece’s not waking up, is she?” she says, her words muffled by my shirt. “Alessio said maybe… maybe she went to the fairies. Like Mama did.”

“No,” I say fiercely. I pull her back enough to look into her face and cup her damp cheeks with both hands. “No, tesoro. She didn’t go anywhere.”

“But Alessio?—”

“Alessio is scared,” I whisper. “Just like you. Just like me. But Francesca isn’t like Mama. She’s not leaving. She loves you too much.”

Lucia sniffles, blinking up at me. “You mean it?”

I nod, my thumb brushing away a tear. “I promise. She’s fighting to come back because she wants to be here. With you. With Alessio. With me.”

She leans her forehead against mine, her breath warm, her little hands clutching my sleeves. “I want to believe you. ”

“You can,” I say, my voice breaking around the edges. “Because she’s your mermaid, remember? She protects us. That kind of love doesn’t die. It fights.”

Lucia nods solemnly, like she’s older than her years and understands in that way children do, the way that doesn’t need logic, only truth.

“She’s gonna wake up,” she whispers.

“Yes,” I whisper back, pressing a kiss to her temple. “She is.”

And this time, I let her see the tears in my eyes because tears aren’t weakness. They’re proof of love. Of life. Of how much she still matters.

I tuck Lucia into bed, her small body curled around the stuffed rabbit, eyes heavy but still flicking to the door, like she’s waiting for a miracle to walk through it.

“I’ll be back soon,” I whisper, brushing her hair from her face. “I’m going to sit with her for a while.”

She nods sleepily, trusting me in that absolute way only a child can.

As I walk down the hall, I pause at Alessio’s door. He’s asleep, curled into a ball, clutching one of Francesca’s scarves like it’s a lifeline.

My heart cracks open again.

I grab my keys and my jacket, and I head back to the hospital, back to the sterile corridor where the only woman I’ve ever loved still fights to return.

When I step into her room, Bruno nods and leaves us. He’ll never know how much I appreciate this.

I take her hand, press my lips to her fingers, and settle into the chair like I’ve done every night since she slipped away from me.

“I kept my promise,” I whisper. “I came back.” My voice trembles, but my grip never loosens. “I’m still here, amore. I’m not going anywhere.”

And this time, I swear I feel the faintest twitch in her fingers.

Hope flares.

“Francesca?”

They twitch again, and I know she’s finally coming back to me.