Too Late To Love: The Don's Dying Wife

Time seemed to warp and slow down. I watched the doll spin helplessly in the air. The blue dress. The delicate, painted smile. My mother's hands pressing it into mine, a memory overlaying the present.

I lunged for it.

But I wasn't fast enough. My body was too slow, too heavy.

The report of its impact cracked through the office, as sharp and final as a gunshot.

The doll flew into a hundred jagged pieces.

I stood frozen. I stared at the fragments. It felt like my ribs were cracking open, one by one.

I saw my name written on the porcelain doll. It was shattered, just like my life. Probably beyond repair.

In that moment, I had a premonition. I was probably really going to die.

A ceramic head rolled across the floor—and stopped right at Dante's shoe.

A muscle in Dante's jaw ticked.

"Oops," Sofia said. Her voice was light. Dripping with mockery. "Butterfingers."

Something inside me finally snapped. The leash I had held on my anger for ten years broke.

I screamed. It was a raw, animal sound that tore from my throat. I threw myself at her.

It wasn't a graceful attack. I stumbled, my weight pitching forward as I grabbed for her hair. I didn't have the strength to slam her. I just let gravity take us both down. We hit the sofa, then the floor.

"You bitch!" I screamed, my voice weak and breathless. "You evil bitch!"

Sofia shrieked. She clawed at my face. Her nails dug into my cheek, drawing blood. I didn't feel it. I just wanted to hurt her. I wanted her to feel a fraction of the agony that was consuming me.

"Elena!" Dante's voice was a roar.

He was there in a second. He grabbed me by the waist. He ripped me off her with bruising force.

A white-hot, blinding agony exploded in my side.

"Are you insane?" he yelled, his chest heaving. "Look at you! You're acting like a wild animal!"

I opened my mouth to speak. But nothing came out. Just a warm rush.

My nose started to bleed again. But this time, it wasn't a trickle. It was a river.

And it wasn't just my nose. I coughed, a wet, hacking sound, and blood splattered onto Dante's pristine white shirt.

He froze. He looked down at the red stain spreading rapidly across his chest.

"Elena?" he said. His voice changed. The anger vanished instantly, replaced by confusion and suspicion.

I felt my legs give out. The room tilted violently. The floor rushed up to meet me. I didn't try to stop the fall.

I hit the ground. Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.

I saw Dante drop to his knees beside me. He turned me over. His hands were covered in my blood.

"Elena!" he shouted. There was panic in his eyes. Real, terrified panic.

"Call the medic!" he screamed at the guards. "Now!"

He was helpless, just watching my blood spill more and more.

I looked up at the ceiling. It was spinning.

"I'm tired, Dante," I whispered. My voice bubbled with liquid.

I closed my eyes. I let the dark water take me under.