The Mafia Don Rejected Her… Then Learned She Was Dying Chapter 07

The Mafia Don Rejected Her… Then Learned She Was Dying Chapter 07

Alexander was out of danger.

The first thing he did after waking up was look for me.

Only after confirming that I was unhaftned did the tension finally leave his face.

I repeated Godfather Don’s message.

“Alex, once you’ve recovered, you should go back home. I can handle the treatment here. Felix will

help me.

His expression darkened instantly.

“You’re sending me away?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

At that moment, the doctors and nurses entered for their rounds. I stepped aside and lowered my

voice.

“Alex, I’ll come see you tomorrow.”

“Serafina…”

The pain from his injuries made it impossible for him to control his emotions.

“If you walk out that door…”

I heard the anger beneath his words.

Even so, I turned and left the room.

Afterward, Alexander spoke with my attending physician in detail.

For the first time, he learned exactly how severe my condition was.

Stage IV lung cancer with brain metastases.

The odds were brutal.

The tumors in my brain posed an especially high risk. Even with the new treatment plan, there were no guarantees. It was a gamble against death itself.

Alexander couldn’t accept it.

At the same time, Tommy brought him another piece of bad news.

The rumors surrounding Alexander and me had exploded across the media back home again, and this time the attacks were aimed directly at me.

“Elena?” Alexander asked coldly.

Tommy nodded.

“Most likely. The original accounts trace back to IP addresses connected to the Moretti family.”

A dangerous look settled over Alexander’s face.

“They’ve got a death wish.”

His voice was ice.

“Gather every piece of evidence. Contact law enforcement. The Foster family is pursuing this to the

fullest extent possible.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Shut down every negative story immediately. Notify our people back home. I want economic pressure applied to the Moretti family starting now.”

Tommy left at once to carry out the orders.

Ignoring his doctors’ objections, Alexander signed himself out of the hospital after taking pain

medication.

Then he came to find me.

“Serafina.”

His voice was unusually quiet.

“Have you considered… choosing palliative care instead?”

I frowned slightly.

“Alex, I’ve already made my decision.”

I met his gaze steadily.

“I want to fight for a future.”

My answer left no room for debate.

For once, even Alexander couldn’t change my mind.

“Serafina.”

He looked at me for a long moment.

“I hope you’ll think about it again.”

With a helpless sigh, he turned and left.

The door closed behind him.

Felix, who had been waiting outside the entire time, spoke calmly.

“Late-stage lung cancer with brain metastases.”

His tone remained clinical.

“If she stops aggressive treatment, she’ll soon face constant migraines, blurred vision, speech impairment, loss of motor control, and eventually complete memory deterioration.”

He paused.

“That will become her everyday life.”

Alexander stood motionless.

His fists clenched at his sides.

His knuckles turned white.

Without saying a word, he walked away.

The days that followed became increasingly difficult.

My memory was getting worse.

Sometimes I couldn’t remember whether I’d taken my medication.

Occasionally, familiar places felt completely foreign.

I contacted Professor Strucker.

Before the next major treatment, he recommended temporarily discontinuing some of the

medications affecting my neurological function so he could evaluate my true condition more

accurately.

The downside was immediate.

Without those medications, my illness progressed faster.

It felt as though the floodgates holding back my memories were breaking apart.

The signs became impossible to ignore.

One afternoon, Alexander and I were shopping for groceries.

I suddenly stopped in the middle of an aisle.

I stared at the shelves.

I couldn’t remember what I had come there to buy.

The night before treatment, sleep refused to come.

Alexander stayed with me.

We shared a few drinks.

By the time I stood to return to my room, a pleasant buzz lingered in my head.

“Serafina.”

His voice stopped me.

I turned around.

Alexander was looking at me.

There was alcohol in his eyes.

But there was something else too.

Pain.

Regret.

A struggle he could no longer hide.

Quietly, he asked,

“Serafina… do you still love me?”