Darling, I Remember

I don’t remember when they took me into surgery even when I clearly told Chris I'm not having surgery. It was like my body gave up but my mind refused to shut down. I was floating—adrift in a cold place, somewhere between life and something worse.

The drugs dulled everything. But in the middle of it, just before I blacked out, I remember one face leaning over me. A stranger. Kind eyes. Not Chris. Not anyone from the hospital staff I knew. He whispered softly as the anesthesia crept up my spine.

“Hang in there, Ivanna. Lothario sent me. He's coming now. My name’s Sam. We’re not letting them win.”

And then I was gone. When I opened my eyes again, I was still alive.

Barely.

My chest felt like it had been caved in, every breath jagged and raw. My body screamed with pain, but I was breathing. My fingers twitched. My ribs hurt like hell, but they moved when I told them to.

That meant one thing.

The surgery worked.

Hope.

I blinked slowly, trying to focus on the blurry figure beside me. It was him—the doctor. Sam. Younger than I expected. Tired eyes. No coat. Just a hoodie, gloves, and stress lines that looked like they’d been carved into his face.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice low. “But not for long. You need to fake it. They can’t know yet. Just lay still. I’ll take care of the rest.”

I tried to speak, but my throat was sandpaper. He handed me a straw and held it steady while I drank a few sips of water.

“I don’t have much time,” he said. “Your vitals are stable, but you need to play dead. Lothario’s handling the rest. They’re planning something big—Marian and Rupert. It’s not just about the wedding. It’s a full takeover. You were in the way.”

I nodded slowly. I didn’t even have to ask why he was helping me. If he was Lothario’s friend, that was enough. And if he’d seen even half the things they’d done to me, maybe that was the rest.

---

I stopped responding to the nurses the next morning…No blinking. No eye movement. No reflexes and Sam played his part perfectly.

“She’s slipping,” he said, looking grim for the benefit of the cameras in the hallway. “Might not last the night.”

I let them poke and prod and whisper around me like I wasn’t even there. My own family barely came to check. Matteo popped in once to mutter something about lawyers and PR statements. Chris came to make sure my face wasn’t recognizable anymore. Marian never bothered. She didn’t need to. She’d already won.

But I listened.

God, I listened.

At night, when they thought I was unconscious, they spoke freely.

I heard Matteo telling Chris that Rupert was already negotiating with the De Lucas now that he had Marian on his arm. That they’d be expanding into the docks, pushing out the Montellis.

I heard Marian’s voice—sharp, confident, like she belonged in the room now. “We need to secure the Chicago pipeline. Ivanna was too soft. Too careful. I’m not.”

Even Chris sounded proud. “You were the better choice all along.”

I wanted to scream. But I stayed still. Silent. Empty.

---

On the third night, Sam came back.

He pulled the curtain shut and turned off the monitor. “It’s time.”

He slipped something cold and metallic onto my chest—an electrode patch hacked to mimic a flatline.

The monitor let out one long, piercing beep.

Sam whispered, “You’ll only have a few minutes. Don’t move until I say.”

The nurse rushed in seconds later. Her face went white. Sam was already calling the code.

“She’s gone,” he said loudly. “No pulse. We lost her.”

There were footsteps. Shouts. People I didn’t know trying to resuscitate me while Sam stood over me, shouting medical jargon and barking orders.

I could feel my body being jostled, but I stayed limp.

Dead.

---

Matteo showed up not long after.

I couldn’t see him, but I recognized his voice.

“What happened? What the hell happened?”

“I warned you,” Sam said coldly. “She needed the surgery earlier. You waited too long. She didn’t make it through recovery.”

Silence.

Then Matteo let out this dry, wheezing sob.

Fake as hell.

“She… she’s dead? My daughter…”

God, I wanted to laugh. Or maybe cry. My body didn’t know the difference anymore.

“She’s gone,” Sam repeated. “Her injuries were too severe. And given the state of the body… I suggest a closed casket.”

Matteo didn’t even question it. Of course he didn’t.

It fit his narrative too perfectly.

---

They gave me two hours.

Sam slipped me out through the back hallway in a wheelchair, draped in a hospital sheet. Lothario was waiting in the alley in a black van, face half-covered, eyes burning with something fierce and desperate.

He helped me into the back and didn’t say a word until we were miles out of the city.

Then, finally, he spoke. “You scared the hell out of me.”

I looked at him, voice barely above a whisper. “You saved me.”

His jaw clenched. “No. I just did what they should’ve done. What they never did.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, tears slipping down my cheeks. “They buried me. And the worst part? They were happy to do it.”

Lothario didn’t respond right away. He just stared ahead, knuckles white on the wheel.

“We’re going to a place no one knows about,” he said quietly. “Old underground clinic. Off the grid. No records. You’ll be safe there. Heal. Plan. Do whatever the hell you need to do.”

I nodded slowly. “What... what about the body in the casket?”

His mouth twisted. “Some Jane Doe from the morgue. Unclaimed. Burn marks, facial trauma. No one will check. No one will question.”

I closed my eyes. It was done.

Ivanna Rossi was dead. And whoever I was now?

She was just getting started.