Nine Choices, One Final Goodbye

Rico POV:

“Divorced?” The word felt foreign in my mouth, like a language I didn’t understand. “What are you talking about?”

The doctor, sensing a storm brewing, gave a quick, awkward nod and backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

I stepped closer to the bed, my heart pounding a frantic, angry rhythm against my ribs. “Ally, what the hell was that?”

She looked at me, her eyes as cold and gray as the storm outside. “I was just telling the doctor my name.”

I noticed her coat then, draped over the chair in the corner. It wasn’t the one she wore tonight. It was her favorite, the one Sofia always said made her look washed out. Her purse sat beside it, along with a small, neatly packed overnight bag.

“Fia was terrified, Ally,” I said, my voice tight with frustration. “She thought she was going to die. I had to make sure she was okay.”

“I know,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “I’m not your responsibility anymore, Rico. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Of course you’re my responsibility! You’re my wife!” The words felt hollow even as I said them. I was trying to convince myself as much as her.

“Am I?” she asked, a small, bitter smile touching her lips. “Tell me, Rico, what do I like for breakfast? What’s my favorite flower? What was the name of the gallery I poured my soul into for the last two years?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I knew Fia’s favorites. Lilies. Croissants with raspberry jam. She hated modern art. But Ally… Ally was a blank space. A quiet presence I had taken for granted.

A familiar frustration coiled in my gut. I ran a hand through my hair, a gesture I knew annoyed her. “This is because of the accident, isn’t it? I’ll make it up to you. I’ll buy you that bracelet you were looking at. The one with the emeralds.”

Her laugh was a short, sharp sound that cut right through me. “You still don’t get it. You never have.” I remembered her staring at a simple silver locket in that jewelry store, not the gaudy emerald bracelet Sofia had pointed out. I had bought her a new car last year for her birthday, a flashy sports car she never drove. She had wanted a membership to the botanical gardens.

“What do you want from me, Ally?” I asked, desperation creeping into my voice.

“Nothing,” she said, and I knew she meant it. “I want nothing from you.”

I looked at the divorce papers again later that night, the words blurring in front of my eyes. Her signature was neat and precise. Mine was a careless scrawl. I remembered that moment in the gallery, Sofia’s triumphant smile. I had been a fool.

I stayed for a while, talking about things that didn’t matter—the weather, the stock market, the leaky faucet in the guest bathroom. She just listened, her expression unreadable.

Then my phone rang. Fia. Of course.

“I have to take this,” I said, already moving toward the door.

“I know,” she replied, not even looking at me.

I came back with another apology, but she was already gone, moved to a private room on another floor. Her friend, Angie, was there, a formidable guard dog blocking the door. She gave me a look that could curdle milk and told me Alessia was resting and didn’t want to be disturbed.

The next few days were a blur of apologies and unanswered calls. I left flowers, chocolates, magazines. They all remained untouched outside her room.

One afternoon, I got a frantic call from my cousin. "Rico, what have you done? Vinny Salerno is running his mouth all over town, saying you challenged him to a street race for Sofia. The old men are furious. This is a violation of *Omertà*. You’re drawing attention. This is dangerous."

I knew what it was about. It wasn't about the race. It was about honor. It was about proving to everyone, to Sofia, that I was willing to risk everything for her.

I had to see Ally. I had to explain.

I found her in the physical therapy ward, her face tight with pain as she tried to put weight on her injured leg. She was with another patient, a man with a quiet strength about him, his hand gently supporting her elbow. Dante De Luca. Head of the De Luca family. A man whose power and influence dwarfed my own. A man known for his cold ruthlessness and unwavering loyalty. He was a shark in a world of minnows.

He looked up and saw me, his eyes dark and assessing. There was a possessiveness in his gaze as he looked at Alessia that made my blood run cold.

“Ally,” I said, my voice tight.

She looked at me, then back at De Luca, a silent communication passing between them.

Sofia was there, of course. She had appeared like a specter at my side. "Ric, darling, what are you doing here?" she cooed, clinging to my arm. "Look at them. Isn't it pathetic? She’s already found a replacement."

Another woman, one of Sofia’s cronies, sneered. "Some people just can't be alone."

I looked at Alessia, at the determined set of her jaw. And I realized, with a sickening jolt, that Sofia wasn’t the prize. Alessia was. And I had just thrown her away.

I had risked my family's honor, my own life, for a woman who saw me as a trophy. And in doing so, I had lost the one person who had ever truly been on my side.