Chapter 28
VINCENZO
Five hours.
Five endless, suffocating hours.
Since I’d given the order.
Since I’d told Ciro to lock Elena inside the industrial cold room.
The thought shouldn’t have changed anything.
But it did.
I hadn’t sat once.
My study felt like a cage.
The air was too thick. Too still. Like the room itself was waiting for something to break.
My boots struck the Persian rug again and again as I paced.
Back.
And forth.
Back.
And forth.
The pattern carved itself into my skull as much as it wore into the floor.
Every time I stopped—every time my thoughts dared to drift toward the lower levels—a sharp, suffocating pressure seized my chest.
And then—
Ciro would appear.
Always.
Like a shadow that refused to leave me alone.
“Boss,” he’d say, calm as ever. “The men are watching.”
I’d pause.
Every time.
“If you pull her out now, word will spread. They’ll say you spared a traitor. That you bent the family’s rules. And once that starts, everyone will think they can betray you without consequence.”
“But if you go through with this—even to your own wife—it sends a message. To everyone in Italy and beyond. That your power is absolute.”
His gaze would lock onto mine.
And every time I turned back.
Jaw clenched. Chest tight.
Forcing myself to believe him.
Forcing myself to believe Elena deserved it.
Forcing myself to believe the heirloom ring was proof, my chest would feel like it was being ripped apart by something savage.
I shouldn’t be doing this to her.
I know she betrayed the family, broke our code, and deserves punishment—but she was eight months pregnant, and that alone should have been enough to stop me.
But it hadn’t.
And now—
It haunted me, leaving me restless—torn between saving her and protecting my power in front of my men.
In truth, I no longer cared whose child she carried.
I didn’t care if the child she carried was Matteo’s or some nameless Spanish soldier’s. It didn’t matter.
The DNA results no longer meant anything to me.
I made my decision months ago.
That child was mine, and I would raise him as my own—protect him, give him my name, my legacy... my everything.
But Elena was in the industrial cold room, the temperature set at -42°C—a place meant for traitors to suffer and die.
What if she had been telling the truth?
What if her water had really broken?
What if she was in labor... in there?
My pacing quickened, growing more frantic with each step.
She wasn’t just another recruit—she was my wife.
My thoughts were scattered, my chest aching unbearably.
From the moment I saw her in that dressing room, Elena had a profound effect on me, but my thirst for revenge for what her father did kept me from giving her the love she deserved.
After getting to know her better, watching her under my roof day after day, I realized how innocent she was at heart—too genuine, too unguarded to be capable of betrayal.
There was a quiet strength in her, a stubborn defiance that refused to break, even when everything was stacked against her.
And then there were the smaller things—the way her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking, the quiet kindness she showed without expecting anything in return, the fire in her spirit that drew me in before I even understood what was happening.
What possible reason would she have to steal my mother’s ring?
Money?
She had access to my accounts—millions at her disposal.
Escape?
She knew I’d hunt her down to the ends of the earth.
The Spanish?
They had already taken enough from her.
Violated her.
Broke her.
I’d seen it in her eyes.
Still saw it.
Even when she tried to hide it.
So what could they have promised her?
What could possibly outweigh everything she had here?
My jaw flexed.
The questions didn’t stop.
They multiplied and gnawed.
I couldn’t stand there any longer.
Something inside me snapped, my heart roaring louder than reason. It felt like it would give out if I didn’t go to her—now.
I wasn’t about to kill my own wife just to save face before my men.
I shoved away from my desk.
Stormed out of the study.
My boots struck the corridor hard, echoing through the estate as I made my way toward the lower levels.
Cold. Purposeful. Focused.
But not controlled.
“Boss.”
Ciro again.
He stepped into my path without warning, like he’d been waiting—blocking me calmly and deliberately.
“Boss, don’t do this.”
My eyes snapped to him.
Sharp. Dangerous.
“Violet’s at the hospital. She’s very close to delivery and needs you. Go be with her—I’m not sure she can get through it without you. It’ll take your mind off this mess.”
I didn’t slow down. Didn’t even hesitate.
I pushed past him.
He fell into step behind me almost immediately.
“Boss—”
“Shut the fuck up, Ciro.”
My voice dropped into a lethal timbre.
“You expect me to kill my wife and my unborn child... just to prove a point to my soldiers about sparing a traitor?”
Silence.
Then I leaned my head slightly, my eyes burning with a darkness beyond anger.
“I don’t care what my soldiers think. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I will not stand by while my wife and unborn child freeze to death. I’m heartless—but not when it comes to my family.”
His eyes widened—just a flicker.
But he didn’t stop walking.
Didn’t stop pushing.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said, voice tight now. “If you let her out this soon—”
I stopped dead, turning too fast.
“This soon?” I barked. “She’s spent five hours inside that freezing cold! Could you last five minutes in there, Ciro? Now stop bothering me and shut your mouth.”
Ciro didn’t back down.
“You’re making a mistake,” he repeated, as if he wished he had some power to stop me from going to get her.
I ignored him entirely and tore down the corridor.
Walls blurred past me, my heart pounding, my mind only on reaching her.
Stone walls flashed past in smeared shadows.
The air grew colder with every step—subtle at first, then sharp enough to sting my lungs, the metallic bite of frost already creeping up from the lower levels.
My boots slammed against the stone.
Harder. Faster.
Each impact echoed like a warning I couldn’t afford to hear.
Elena, please.
The thought wasn’t a command anymore.
It was a plea.
Stay alive. Just stay alive.
I reached the insulated door and skidded to a stop, breath ragged, chest rising and falling too fast.
I slammed my hand against the heavy, insulated metal door, the impact jolting up my arm.
Locked.
Of course it was locked.
My jaw tightened as the realization hit—standard protocol. The cold rooms were controlled access. Only Ciro and Renzo carried the override keys.
I turned sharply.
And there he was.
Ciro.
Still approaching.
Not rushing. Not panicking.
Just walking.
Like nothing in the world was about to collapse.
My pulse spiked.
“Open this fucking door,” I snapped. “Now.”
He stopped a few paces away, watching me carefully.
“Boss,” he said, voice calm—too calm. “Think about what you’re doing. You lose face. The men—”
I drew the Glock in one smooth, brutal motion.
The metal felt cold and alive in my hand as I leveled it at his chest.
“Ciro.”
His eyes flicked down—just once.
“Do you hear me?”
The room went silent.
Even the hum of the building seemed to fade.
“You of all people,” I continued, my voice dropping, controlled but edged with something dangerous, “know what happens when I lose my temper.”
The muzzle didn’t waver.
“Run. Over. Here.”
A beat.
“And open. The. Door.”
His composure cracked.
Not much.
But enough.
His face drained of color. His posture stiffened.
For the first time since I’d known him—
Ciro looked afraid.
“Okay—okay,” he said quickly, raising his hands slightly. “Boss... I’m opening it.”
He moved faster now.
Keys. Panel. Code.
The lock disengaged with a heavy, mechanical thunk that echoed down the corridor like a gunshot.
Then—
The door hissed open.
Cold air erupted from inside like a living thing.
I didn’t wait.
Didn’t think.
I shoved past him and stepped into the room.
The world inside was wrong.
A frozen hell.
White. Blinding. Still.
Bodies were everywhere—preserved in mid-motion, mid-scream, mid-plea.
The temperature display blinked in harsh red letters:
-42°C
My breath hitched.
Then I saw her.
“Elena—!”
She was slumped against the far wall.
Frozen.
Her head tilted slightly, lips parted in a silent scream.
Teeth bared in a grimace that didn’t belong to life.
Her skin—pale as marble—had taken on a blue-black tint at the edges.
Frost clung to her lashes, to her hair, to every fold of her dress.
Between her thighs lay a dark, frozen pool of blood, stark against the icy floor.
And something else—something far too small.
My heart stopped.
The world narrowed.
“No... no—no—no—”
I dropped to my knees beside her, my legs trembling.
“Elena!”
I reached down and gently nudged her shoulder with my hand, then shifted my weight to press the tip of my boot against her side for extra leverage.
Nothing.
No movement.
No breath.
No response.
“Elena—fuck—Elena, wake up!”
My voice broke.
Shattered.
I forced my gaze downward again, hands trembling as understanding clawed its way into my chest.
The lump in the blood wasn’t just blood.
It was a child.
Tiny.
Still.
The skin already turning rigid under the freezing air, the color draining as frost began to creep across him.
His limbs were still curled in that fragile, newborn shape—except he hadn’t cried.
Hadn’t moved.
My chest seized.
Then my eyes caught something in her hand—her fingers, still clenched and stiff from the cold.
I reached for them, careful—terrified that if I moved too hard, I’d break her, snap what was left of her body like fragile ice.
Her grip resisted at first.
Then loosened slightly as I pried her fingers open.
Inside—
A folded piece of paper.
I unfolded it with shaking hands.
A medical record.
Stamped.
Dated.
Three weeks ago.
My eyes scanned the page faster and faster.
High-risk pregnancy. Preterm labor possible.