Bonus Scene
The steady beep of the heart monitor keeps me tethered to reality, a reminder that I’m still here, still breathing, still alive. Barely. The dull ache in my side pulses in time with my heartbeat, the ghost of a bullet I never saw coming.
A bullet meant for someone else.
I don’t regret taking the hit. If I hadn’t, my brother’s wife would be the one lying in this hospital bed instead of me. But that doesn’t mean I’m not pissed about it.
The door creaks open, and I expect to see Vitali, maybe even Luca, my normal guard, but the man who steps inside is neither.
It’s Dario.
His dark suit is a stark contrast against the sterile white walls, his presence an immediate shift in the air, thick with something I can’t name. Power. Control. Something heavier than the last time I saw him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, my voice hoarse.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just drags a chair closer to my bedside, his movements deliberate, calculated. When he sits, his gaze locks onto mine, pinning me down harder than the hospital bed ever could.
“I’m the new head of the De Luca family.”
I blink. “Come again?”
“It’s done. Vitali has handed the throne to me.”
I laugh. Or at least, I try to. It comes out more like a choked, breathless scoff. “Bullshit.”
His expression doesn’t change. His stillness is unsettling, like a predator waiting for its prey to realize it’s already caught.
“I’m serious, Antonia.” His voice is smooth, unwavering. Deadly.
I search his face for any sign of a joke, a lie, a smirk that tells me he’s screwing with me. But there’s nothing.
Dario Gallo—the man I once thought was just another soldier in my brother’s ranks—is now sitting at my bedside, claiming the throne of a kingdom built on blood and bone.
And he’s looking at me like this changes everything.
My fingers tighten around the scratchy hospital blanket. “And what does that mean for me?”
His lips curve, just slightly. It’s not amusement. It’s something else. Something more dangerous.
“It means we are getting married.”
The air in the room shifts, pressing down on me. My pulse spikes, a fresh shot of adrenaline burning through my veins.
I stare at him, waiting for him to laugh, to take it back, to tell me he’s kidding.
But he doesn’t.
Because he’s not.
And I realize, with chilling certainty, that I was wrong before.
I am not the prey in this scenario. I am the prize.