Rising From Ash: The Mafia Queen Returns

Elena POV

I was breathing through the pain, counting the seconds between the agonizing spikes in my lower back, when the door didn't just open—it slammed against the wall.

It wasn't Dante.

It was two of his enforcers.

"Mrs. Rossi," one of them said, speaking to the air rather than making eye contact. "The Don has ordered a medical check. For everyone in the house."

Panic spiked in my chest, sharper than the contractions.

"I'm fine," I gritted out, snatching my purse from the nightstand—a reflex, a shield—before clutching the bedpost. "I don't need a doctor."

"It's not a request, Ma'am."

They moved forward.

They seized my arms.

Their grip was firm, impersonal.

I was nothing more than luggage.

I stumbled, my body betraying me under the weight of the spasm.

As they dragged me into the hallway, I saw him.

Dante.

He was standing at the end of the corridor, a dark silhouette against the sterile lights.

For a second, our eyes locked.

I smelled him as I was pulled past—that scent of cedar and rain that used to mean safety.

My body leaned toward him without my permission.

It was a pathetic, biological reflex.

*Save me,* my heart cried.

*Damn you,* my brain screamed.

I let them take me.

I had to be smart.

I had to use this.

If I could get to the clinic, I could get to the post box.

I could get to the exit.

The clinic was sterile, white, and smelled of antiseptic and fear.

They deposited me on an examination table.

Dante walked in.

The room seemed to shrink, the air suddenly too thin to breathe.

He looked at me, really looked at me, and frowned.

"You're sweating," he said.

He walked over to the water cooler, filled a paper cup, and brought it to me.

He held it to my lips.

"Drink."

His fingers brushed mine.

The tenderness was sudden, disarming.

It was a weapon.

"Why do you care?" I whispered, taking a sip, the cool liquid soothing my parched throat.

He opened his mouth to speak, his eyes searching mine.

For a moment, the mask slipped.

I saw the man I had married.

Then the alarms started blaring.

Red lights flashed in the hallway, bathing us in a rhythmic, bloody glow.

"Don!" A guard shouted from the doorway. "It's Vanessa! She's collapsed! She's bleeding!"

Dante froze.

He looked at me.

Then he looked at the door.

There was no hesitation.

There was no choice.

He turned and ran.

He ran out of the room, leaving the water cup to spill onto the floor.

He ran to her.

I watched his back disappear, and something inside me finally snapped.

The last thread of hope.

The last tether.

Gone.

I doubled over as a contraction ripped through me, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Black spots danced in my vision.

The doctor rushed in, flustered, looking at his pager.

"Mrs. Rossi," he said distractedly, wiping sweat from his brow. "The Don took the senior staff. It's just me. Let's make this quick."

He listened to my heart.

He checked my eyes.

I held my breath.

I clenched my muscles, hiding the tremors.

"Stress," he muttered, scribbling on a pad. "Severe exhaustion. You need bed rest."

He didn't check my stomach.

He didn't see the life fighting to survive inside me.

He was too worried about the Don's wrath if Vanessa died.

"I need something for the nerves," I lied, forcing urgency into my voice. "And I need to sign the updated asset waivers Dante asked for."

The doctor blinked, disoriented. "Now?"

"He wants them done. Unless you want to tell him they aren't ready?"

The doctor paled.

"No, no. Here."

He handed me a clipboard.

I pulled the papers from my bag—the divorce agreement, the waiver of rights, the complete severance of ties.

I signed them.

*Elena Rossi.*

The ink looked like blood against the crisp white page.

"I'll mail these for you," I said, sliding off the table, ignoring the protest of my hips. "I need fresh air."

"Mrs. Rossi, you really shouldn't—"

"Dante is with her," I snapped, cutting him off. "Do you really think he cares where I am right now?"

The doctor fell silent.

He knew the answer.

I walked out of the clinic.

The rain was pouring down, washing away the scent of antiseptic.

I walked to the blue mailbox on the corner of the street.

I held the envelope.

Inside was my freedom.

Inside was the end of us.

I dropped it in.

The metal clang was the sound of a guillotine falling.

"Goodbye, Dante," I whispered into the rain.

"You can have your kingdom. I'm taking my life back."