The Don’s Dead Bride Chapter 03

The Don’s Dead Bride Chapter 03

The hospital hallway was empty. Two soldiers dragged me between them, my feet scraping against the polished floor. My shoes were gone.

Luca walked ahead, carrying Isabella—who was supposedly “in shock.”

His back was straight. He didn’t look at me once.

We stopped in front of the double doors to the operating room.

The doctor hesitated. “Mr. Romano, the patient was just attacked. She’s pregnant. Without anesthesia, the pain could—”

“Could kill her?” Luca finished coldly.

The doctor wiped sweat from his forehead. “Probably not. But the pain will be more than a human body can take. It could trigger a miscarriage or send her into shock.”

“Then do it.”

Luca’s voice came out like ice.

“Keep her breathing. Take what we need.”

“As for the bastard—consider this nature taking its course. Saves me the trouble.”

Every word he said drove a needle into my chest.

I stopped begging. I just stared at his back.

The man I’d loved for ten years.

The man I’d kept hidden so deep in my heart it shamed me.

I started laughing.

Tears poured down my face as I laughed.

Luca turned around, disgust written all over his face. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Luca Romano.”

I said his full name, my voice hoarse but steady.

“What if I told you Isabella isn’t sick? What if this whole thing is a setup? Would you believe me?”

His eyes went dark. Before he could speak, Isabella trembled in his arms.

He immediately stroked her hair, then whipped his head toward me.

“You’re strapped to an operating table and you’re still trying to drag her down? Jesus, Elena. How sick can you get?”

“Get her inside.”

With that command, the doors swung open in front of me—a massive mouth ready to swallow me whole.

They threw me onto the cold steel table.

The restraints clicked shut around my wrists and ankles.

A nurse walked over with a thick, shiny needle. For a second, I saw pity in her eyes. But fear won out.

“Try to stay still, miss.”

Cold metal touched the skin of my lower back.

That’s when my heart turned to ash.

My right wrist hadn’t been fully secured. I pulled it free.

The nurse turned to grab a cotton swab. I used the last bit of strength I had to grab the disposable lighter from the instrument tray.

The surgeon had left it there.

I remembered how high the alcohol and oxygen levels were in this room.

“Don’t move!” the nurse screamed.

A bitter smile touched my lips. I flicked the lighter.

The flame caught. In an instant, the alcohol-soaked cotton ignited.

The fire shot upward.

Alarms started blaring.

“Fire! Get out!”

The medical staff panicked and ran for the exits.

The flames spread fast—curtains caught, machines burned.

Thick black smoke filled the air.

I lay on the table, not moving.

This heat was warmer than Luca’s arms had ever been.

I pulled my phone from my sleeve.

The screen glowed red in the firelight.

I sent Luca one last text: [Luca. This life pays my debt. We’re even.]

Sent.

I let the phone slip from my hand.