The Blind Don's Unwanted Ghost Wife

Gianna's POV

Dante stayed in the hospital suite for less than ten minutes.

He hastily made an excuse to leave, strode down the empty hallway, and slipped into a private restroom.

He cranked the faucet to the max, splashed water on his face, and gripped the edges of the porcelain sink so hard his knuckles turned white.

He stared into the mirror.

The eyes staring back—eyes that used to be mine—were as hollow as an abyss.

He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with trembling hands. As the smoke rose, he stared at his reflection and muttered under his breath: "Where is she... where the hell is she hiding..."

He pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Report her location," he demanded into the receiver, his voice raspy.

A hesitant silence met him on the other end.

Veins bulged on Dante's forehead: "You useless pieces of trash!"

He violently smashed the phone against the tiled floor. He leaned against the sink, his chest heaving, his breathing labored as if something heavy was crushing his lungs.

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

He quickly put out the cigarette, straightened his suit, pushed the door open, and walked out.

The attending doctor was standing by Francesca's bed, holding a clipboard. He looked up, his expression grim.

"Miss Francesca's condition is deteriorating rapidly," the doctor said in a low voice. "Her heart... it's giving out."

I hovered near the ceiling, looking down at Francesca.

Francesca started to cry.

"Dante..." she reached out, her voice trembling. "I don't want to die... I'm scared..."

Dante rushed to the side of the bed and pulled her tightly into his arms. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with fear—the fear of losing the only thing that mattered to him.

"You're not going to die," he said, his voice deep but absolute. "I swear on my name as Don, no matter the cost, I will drag Gianna back. Her heart will save you."

Francesca buried her face in his chest, sobbing: "Would you really do that for me?"

"I swear."

I stood in the corner, watching the scene unfold.

I felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

I had given him my eyes, and he was using them to look at her.

It was late into the night when Dante left the hospital.

He strode into the warehouse, his hand gripping a thick leather whip.

"Drag Leo out here," he ordered.

The soldiers dragged Leo back to the center of the room. Leo's arms hung limply at his sides, his broken fingers swollen and purple like a cluster of deformed grapes.

He lifted his head, his eyes unfocused, his lips cracked and dry.

Dante crouched in front of him, lightly tapping the whip against his own palm.

"I'll ask you one last time," he lowered his voice. "Where is she?"

Leo coughed up a mouthful of blood. Blood froth trickled down his chin, dripping onto the concrete. He looked at Dante, his voice raspy like sandpaper rubbing against stone:

"Gianna... is dead."

Dante's jaw muscle tightened into a hard knot beneath his skin.

He stood up and raised his arm. The veins on the back of his hand bulged, pulsing with his rapid breaths. The whip tore through the air and struck Leo viciously.

Crack!

Leo's shirt tore open, his flesh splitting as beads of blood splattered through the air. He clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out.

Crack! Crack!

Dante lashed him again and again, every strike delivered with a near-insane amount of force. Leo's body convulsed against the chair, but he remained silent.

"Where is she?!" Dante roared, his voice echoing in the warehouse.

Leo lifted his head. His face was covered in blood, but he managed to pull his lips into a twisted smile.

"Dead," he repeated. "You'll never find her."

Dante stopped.

Panting heavily, he stared at Leo for a long time. Then he tossed the whip to a soldier and pulled out his phone. He snapped a few pictures of Leo's mangled body, then tapped the screen a few times.

"Throw this phone into her mother's cell," he said, handing the device to a soldier. "Let her get a good look."

The soldier took the phone and walked toward the back of the warehouse. The iron door opened and closed. A few seconds later, a sharp ringtone echoed from the damp stone corridor.

Less than twenty minutes later, the heavy doors at the back of the warehouse were thrown open.

Rosa rushed in.

Her hair was a mess, her clothes wrinkled and stained. She looked utterly broken—until she saw Leo.

Leo was slouched over, covered in blood, the wounds on his chest still oozing. Hearing the commotion, he struggled to lift his head.

"Mom..."

Rosa's tears spilled over. She stumbled forward, trying to run to him, but the soldiers held her back.

Dante stood in front of her, looking down at her from his towering height.

"Madam Rosa," he said, his voice dreadfully calm. "Are you finally ready to give up that traitor's location?"

Rosa looked at him. In her bloodshot eyes was nothing but bone-chilling despair.

With a trembling hand, she pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. She stared at Dante, speaking word by word:

"This is her location."

She threw the crumpled paper hard at his chest.

It bounced off and fell to the floor.

Dante looked down at the paper, his sneer deepening. He didn't even bother to bend down and pick it up; he just nudged it with his dress shoe.

"You expect me to believe this?" he scoffed. "You think you can brush me off with a piece of trash?"

He turned to his soldiers: "Grab her and lead the way. Let her personally take us to her lying daughter."

The soldiers grabbed Rosa's arms. She didn't struggle; she just stared at Dante, a look in her eyes that he couldn't decipher.

The convoy drove through the night for twenty minutes.

When the armored SUV finally stopped, Dante pushed the door open and stepped out. He looked around, the smirk freezing on his face.

Wrought-iron gates. Grassy hills. Rows upon rows of tombstones.

The city cemetery.

Dante turned around, glaring at Rosa. His eyes turned dangerous, like a beast backed into a corner.

"You brought me here?"

Rosa didn't answer. She walked straight through the gates and made her way up the hill. Dante followed behind her, his footsteps growing heavier.

Finally, Rosa stopped in front of a tombstone.

Engraved on the stone was a black-and-white photo—a photo of me. Below it was my name, and the dates of my birth and death.

Dante stared at that photo. He stared for a long time.

Then he let out a scoff.

"A farce." He shook his head, turning to Rosa. "An elaborately designed charade. Your whole family is full of master actors."

He pointed at the tombstone, his voice rising: "You think I'll believe this? You think just throwing up a piece of stone will make me think she's dead?"

Rosa clenched her teeth. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she didn't raise a hand to wipe them away.

"This is the truth, Dante," her voice was raspy but firm. "Whether you want to believe it or not."

Dante shoved her hard by the shoulder. Rosa stumbled and fell to the ground, her knees hitting the damp dirt.

"Truth?" He glared down at her, eyes freezing cold. "Your truth is a load of bullshit. She's hiding in some corner of Europe with that bastard Matteo. Your whole family is covering for her..."

He didn't finish his sentence.

A soldier approached, his face pale, gripping a cell phone. He stood behind Dante, hesitating before speaking:

"Boss..."

Dante turned around, his face impatient: "What is it?"

The soldier swallowed hard. His hands were shaking.

"The tech team... they bypassed the records Matteo deleted and found the original files from that clinic. Unredacted."

Dante stared at him.

"What does that mean?"

The soldier took a deep breath, his voice trembling:

"Boss... Miss Gianna... she did it to save you..."

He paused, as if gathering all his courage: "She donated her corneas to you. Post-operative infection... she died."