Chapter 8.
Elara's POV.
I felt the vibration of Lorenzo's chest against my head as he ran.
"Get a gurney! Now!" Lorenzo's voice echoed.
Hands grabbed me. I was lifted and placed on a hard, cold surface. The ceiling lights blurred into a single white line.
"Vital signs are dropping!" a voice shouted.
"She's hemorrhaging! Get her to Room Four!"
"Elara!"
I heard Dante's voice. It was distant, muffled by the sound of swinging doors. I tried to reach for him, but my arms felt like they weighed a thousand pounds.
"Sir, you cannot come back here!" a nurse yelled.
"That is my wife!" Dante roared. "Get your hands off me!"
"Stay back, Dante!" Lorenzo's voice was closer. "Let them work!"
The doors clicked shut, cutting off their voices. A mask was pressed over my face. The scent of chemicals filled my nose, and everything began to fade.
When I finally opened my eyes, the room was silent.
The door opened and a middle-aged doctor in a white coat walked in. He looked at my chart, then at me.
"Mrs. Moretti. You're awake," he said.
"What happened?" I asked. "The pills... they gave me pills."
The doctor pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. "The toxicology report confirmed high doses of a synthetic prostaglandin. It caused severe uterine contractions and internal bleeding. We had to perform an emergency procedure to stop the hemorrhage."
I swallowed hard. "And the... the child? Was there... was I?"
The doctor looked down at his tablet. "The blood tests confirmed you were approximately one week pregnant. Very early. Under normal circumstances, you wouldn't have even known yet."
He paused, his expression softening slightly. "I'm sorry, Elara. Given the nature of the drugs and the trauma your body endured, the pregnancy was terminated. You are lucky to be alive. Ten more minutes and you would have bled out in that warehouse."
"Where is my husband?" I asked.
"He was informed of the situation an hour ago," the doctor said. "He is no longer in the hospital."
"He left?"
"He had a... reaction to the news," the doctor said in a low tone. "He left shortly after."
Outside the room, the hospital staff was still cleaning up the mess Dante had made. Lorenzo sat on a plastic chair in the hallway, his head in his hands. He had watched the entire breakdown.
When the doctor had delivered the news, Dante hadn't moved for a full minute. He had stood in the center of the waiting room, his tuxedo ruined and his face splattered with the blood of the men he had killed to get to me.
Then, the explosion happened.
Dante turned and slammed his fist into the wall. The sound of the impact cracked like a gunshot. He hit it again, and again, until the white plaster was stained red from his knuckles.
"Dante, stop!" Lorenzo had shouted, moving toward him.
Dante didn't stop. He grabbed a heavy wooden chair from the waiting area and smashed it against the floor. The legs splintered into toothpicks. He moved to the glass door leading to the surgical wing and slammed his palm against it with an incredible amount of force.
"They took him!" Dante screamed. The sound was guttural and raw. "They took my child! They took everything!"
He had looked at Lorenzo then, his eyes dark with a rage that bordered on insanity. He didn't ask to see me or ask if I was okay.
I laid in the bed, the doctor's words looping in my head.
It was my fault. Dante had paid millions for a son, and I had lost him in a filthy warehouse because I wasn't strong enough to fight back.
I had failed. I had failed the contract, and I had failed him.
The door opened again. Lorenzo walked in, carrying a plastic cup of water. He looked tired, his arm in a sling and his face bruised.
"Hey," he said softly. "How are you feeling?"
"I lost it, Lorenzo," I whispered. "He's gone."
"I know," Lorenzo said. He sat on the edge of the bed and handed me the water. "Drink. You're dehydrated."
I took a sip. The water felt like ice in my throat. "Dante left. He hates me, doesn't he? He thinks I'm a failure."
"Dante doesn't hate you, Elara," Lorenzo said, though he wouldn't look me in the eye. "He's angry at the world. He's angry at the Petrovs. He just needs time to process."
"He didn't even come in to see me," I said, a tear finally sliding down my cheek. "He only cared about the heir. Now that the heir is gone, I'm nothing to him."
"That's not true," Lorenzo said, his voice steady. He reached out and took my hand.
"You're alive. That's what matters. We can talk about the rest later. For now, just breathe. Tell me about that exam you were worried about. The one about the heart valves."
"Lorenzo, I don't want to talk about heart valves."
"Talk anyway," he insisted. "Distract yourself. Use that big brain of yours."
I talked about anatomy and all sorts of rubbish. For those few hours, I clung to him. He was the only thing keeping me from sinking.
Later that night, the hospital cleared me for discharge.
"I'll drive you," Lorenzo said.
The drive to the Moretti estate was silent.
Lorenzo helped me inside. "Do you want me to stay for a bit? I can make some tea."
"No," I said, leaning against the marble wall of the foyer. "I need to find Dante. I need to apologize."
"Elara, maybe you should wait until tomorrow. He's in a bad state."
"I can't wait," I said. "I need to know where we stand."
Lorenzo sighed but nodded. "I'll be in the library if you need me."
I walked up the stairs, my legs feeling weak. I went toward the east wing, toward Dante's private suite. I had never been there before.
As I approached the door, I saw that it was half-open.
I stopped, my heart racing. I opened my mouth to call his name, but the words died before I could even let them out.
I heard a laugh.
A woman's laugh.
"You shouldn't be so upset, Dante," the voice said. "It was just a girl from the streets. She was never going to give you a real Moretti heir."
I moved closer, my hand trembling as I pushed the door an inch wider.
Dante was sitting on the edge of his oversized bed. His shirt was off, his knuckles were wrapped in bloody bandages, and he was staring at the floor.
Standing between his knees was Isabella Rossi.
Her hands were in his hair, pulling his head toward her chest.
"I'm here now," Isabella whispered. "I've always been the one you should have chosen. We can fix this. We can give your father the grandson he wanted. You don't need her anymore."
He leaned his forehead against her stomach and closed his eyes.
"She lost him, Isabella," Dante muttered, his voice thick with a mix of grief. "She had one job, and she failed."
"I know, darling," Isabella cooed, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "But I won't fail you. I'm right here."
I froze in the doorway. My hand was still on the wood of the door, but I couldn't feel my hands and my legs.
I had just come home from the hospital after nearly dying for his child. I had been ready to beg for his forgiveness for something that wasn't my fault.
And there he was. With her.
My world, which had already been cracked, shattered into a million pieces.
The man I had tried to love was gone. In his place was the monster I had feared all along.
And if this is the game he wants to play, it's high time I become the better player.