Who Is the Real Mafia Principessa Chapter 07

Who Is the Real Mafia Principessa Chapter 07

Rafael snapped awake from a nightmare, letting out a sound so hoarse it was barely human. He stumbled, nearly falling to his knees as he scrambled through the blood pooling on the floor.

He trembled, pressing his hands uselessly over my wound. Warm blood gushed through his fingers, no matter how hard he squeezed.

“No… no… how could this happen…? Althea! Althea!” He babbled incoherently, tears pouring down his face, dropping onto my cold cheek, mixing with the warm blood. “We’re going to the hospital! Right now!!”

He looked up at his stunned parents and roared, his neck veins bulging. “Call someone! Call an ambulance!!”

Mrs. Moretti finally let out a shrill, broken scream. Giancarlo jolted awake, his face ashen, scrambling for the phone.

Rafael tried to lift me, but his hands shook worse than mine. After several tries, he managed to pull me into his arms, his entire chest heaving violently.

“Althea, don’t be scared… don’t be scared… Brother’s here. I’ll take you to the hospital. Hold on… please… hold on…” He rambled tearfully, staggering toward the door, leaving bloody footprints with every step.

I felt nothing at the sight of their genuine, terrified grief—expressions they’d never once shown me. Only a deep, overwhelming revulsion.

The cold from blood loss grew heavier. My body felt light. My mind began to fade.

Good.

Finally… freedom.

I managed a faint, relieved smile. My lips moved, barely making a sound.

Rafael froze and pressed his ear to my mouth, tears falling onto my neck. “What…? Althea, what is it…?”

With the last of my consciousness, I looked into his tearful, panicked, begging eyes and spoke the words at a time.

“Get… lost.”

“Next life… I never… want to see… any of you… again.”

He went rigid, as if struck by lightning. Then he let out an even louder, more desperate wail and ran out holding me.

Consciousness slipped away completely, floating upward.

Gentle darkness swallowed everything.

Good.

Finally…

I owed no one anything.

So light.

I thought when I opened my eyes again, I’d be at the bridge of the afterlife.

Instead, the sharp smell of antiseptic, the pale white ceiling, and the heavy restraints on my arm told me I was still alive.

“Althea! You’re awake! My baby!”

Mrs. Moretti’s haggard, makeup-streaked face rushed into view. She threw herself by the bed, tears filling her red, swollen eyes again, her voice raw with terror.

“What were you thinking? How could you do that?! Do you want to kill your mother?! Don’t you want your family anymore? Your dad, your broth…?”

I stared blankly away, at my heavily bandaged wrist, throbbing faintly.

“Why am I not dead?” My voice was flat, empty.

Rafael, who’d been standing by the bed, lifted his head immediately. His hair was messy, dark circles carved under his eyes, his white shirt still stained with large, dried, blackened bloodstains.

He stepped forward, his voice rough and pleading, gentle in a way I’d never heard.

“Althea… don’t say that. I called the prison. The doctors said… you’ve been suffering from severe depression… and dangerous self-destructive tendencies…”

He knelt down, meeting my eyes levelly, his voice breaking. “It’s an illness, Althea. We know now. We don’t blame you… we’ll stay here with you, get you better. Everything will be okay… please.”

Mrs. Moretti covered her face and sobbed, her shoulders shaking violently. “Althea… why didn’t you tell me…? If I had known…”

I let out a laugh so bitter it felt hollow.

“Tell you?” I looked at her, my eyes empty. “In two years in there… did any of you visit me? Even once?”

“Now you’re pretending to be a loving mother…” I paused. “Isn’t it a little late?”