From Discarded Wife To The Don's Successor

Florence Horton POV

The Horton Private Medical Center didn't smell like a hospital. It reeked of old money and aggressive sterilization.

I sat by the window, my gaze fixed on the skyline. There were three men in dark suits standing outside my door. They weren't hospital security. They were soldiers.

My father, Horacio Horton, sat in the leather armchair in the corner. He hadn't spoken much since I arrived. He just watched me, searching for the girl who had run away to art school years ago.

He wouldn't find her.

"The procedure," I said, breaking the silence.

"We can stop it," he said. His voice was a low rumble. "I can have this Julius Carroll buried in the foundation of his own building by sunset."

"No." I turned to look at him. My eyes were dry. "Death is too simple. He wants to be a big man? I'm going to let him be a big man. And then I'm going to take it all away. Piece by piece."

My phone buzzed on the table.

It was a video message from an unknown number. But I knew exactly who it was.

I pressed play.

Kenzie was lying in a hospital bed—my hospital bed, back at the public clinic where they had discarded me. Julius was sitting on the edge, feeding her ice chips.

"Poor Florence," Kenzie cooed at the camera, her voice sickly sweet. "Julius says she was so hysterical. But don't worry, honey. Your marrow is going to a good cause. We're going to celebrate my recovery in Paris. Maybe we'll use your frequent flyer miles."

She laughed. Julius smiled at her, stroking her hair.

I saved the video. Evidence.

"He is coming here," one of the guards said, stepping into the room. "He is demanding to see his wife."

"Let him in," I said.

Horacio stood up. "I will be in the next room. Listening."

He left. The air in the room shifted. It curdled from sanctuary to hunting ground.

Julius walked in. He looked annoyed, not worried. He was wearing a fresh suit.

"What is this place, Florence?" he asked, looking around with disdain. "I had to argue with three gorillas just to get to the elevator. Who is paying for this?"

"My father," I lied. It wasn't technically a lie. But he thought my father was a retired mechanic in Queens.

"Well, tell him to save his money. We have the best doctors waiting for you at St. Jude's." He walked over to the bed. "The transplant is scheduled for tomorrow morning."

"You threw a party," I said.

He paused. "What?"

"For Kenzie. A recovery party. While our baby was being incinerated as medical waste."

"You're being dramatic again," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It was a small gathering. To keep spirits up. Kenzie has been through a lot."

"And me?"

"You're strong, Florence. You've always been... sturdy."

Sturdy. Like a mule. Like a load-bearing wall.

"I want to see Ava," I said.

"Ava is fine. She's with the nanny. You can see her after the procedure. Consider it... motivation."

He was holding my daughter hostage. He was trading access to my child for parts of my body.

I looked at his hands. Manicured. Soft. He had never thrown a punch in his life. He had no idea he was standing in a room with a woman who knew how to strip a Glock blindfolded before she learned long division.

"Okay," I said softly.

He blinked. "Okay?"

"I'll do it. I'll give her the marrow."

He smiled. It was the smug grin of a man who thought he had won a negotiation. "Good girl. I knew you'd see reason. We're even after this, Florence. You help Kenzie, and I... I'll forgive you for the gallery stunt."

"We're even," I repeated.

I wasn't giving him marrow to save her. I was giving it to him so that when I destroyed him, he could never say I owed him a thing. I was paying the toll to cross the bridge. Just so I could turn around and burn it down.

"I'll send the car for you in the morning," he said, checking his watch again. "Rest up."

He left.

I waited five seconds. Then I looked at the mirror on the wall.

"Papa," I said.

Horacio walked back in. He looked at the door where Julius had exited.

"He threatened the child," my father said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Then he is dead."

"Not yet," I said. I lay back on the pillows. "First, I give them what they want. Let them think they've won. Let them get comfortable."

I closed my eyes.

"Tomorrow, the civilian Florence makes her last donation. And then she is gone."