Gone Before He Loved Me Chapter 04

Gone Before He Loved Me Chapter 04

When the divorce papers landed on his desk, Matteo froze. Then laughed.

“Lucia. You think you can leave me? Ridiculous.”

But the butler noticed. The Don’s fingers were trembling.

That usually composed face showed something it never had before—loss of control.

Matteo ordered the car immediately. He was going to bring Lucia home.

On the way, his jaw was tight, fists clenched so hard veins bulged in his forearms.

An unease he’d never felt before clawed at him.

Like something vital was slipping away.

The driver didn’t dare ask questions. Just floored it.

At the asylum, Matteo opened his own car door—first time in years the Don of the Ferraros had lost all composure.

He strode through the halls, didn’t even acknowledge the staff bowing to him. Reached the discharge desk.

“I’m here for Lucia.”

The nurse blinked. “Don Ferraro… you don’t know?”

Matteo frowned. “Know what?”

The nurse faltered. “Don Ferraro… you signed the order for increased voltage today. There was an accident during the treatment.”

Matteo went still. “What? I never ordered—”

The nurse’s face fell. “Donna… she passed away.”

Matteo started shaking. “No. That’s impossible—absolutely impossible!”

He pushed past her, past everyone, sprinted to Lucia’s room.

Empty.

Nothing left of her.

No Lucia.

No sketchbook.

No flowers by the window.

Just a single urn on the table.

Time stopped.

He stared at that small box. Didn’t move.

As if staying away meant it wasn’t real.

But eventually, he walked toward it, his legs heavy as lead. He reached out and lifted the urn into his arms—and the world shattered.

Matteo broke. Clutched the urn to his chest, sank to his knees like his spine had been ripped out.

His roar of agony echoed through the entire hospital.

“NO—!”

…

The mansion was dark. Silent.

Without Lucia, the enormous house had always felt cold. Now it was a tomb. No one dared make a sound.

No lights.

In the darkness, just the ember of his cigarette glowing and dying.

Matteo sat in the room, Lucia’s urn in front of him. Floor covered in butts.

No matter how many he smoked, the suffocation in his chest wouldn’t ease.

He closed his eyes. Pain stabbed through him.

Lucia’s illness had come and gone over the years. She barely ate. Grown too thin.

Now her face wouldn’t leave his mind.

Her in her wedding dress.

Her crying, clutching his sleeve during an episode.

Her whispering I love you before sleep every night.

A panic he’d never felt before—not even when Aurora got hurt—ripped through him.

He realized, too late, that he’d lost something irreplaceable.

Matteo held that urn all night. Smoked until dawn.

When the butler knocked, his voice was barely audible.

“Don Ferraro… the baby’s crying. Aurora’s downstairs trying to feed him. Should I—”

Matteo didn’t move. Didn’t respond.

Aurora wasn’t even trying to soothe the baby. The crying got louder. Sharper. Needling into his skull.

He stood. Opened the door.

Downstairs, Aurora held the infant. When she saw him, her eyes went red immediately.

“Matteo, he won’t stop crying. Should we call the doctor? He’s our son, Matteo. You’re his father.”

She emphasized the words—reminding him what mattered.

Matteo’s jaw tightened. The noise drilled into his ears, fraying his nerves further.

He turned to the butler.

“Take it out.”