She Made Way for His Lover, but He Wants a Do-Over

The reinforcements never showed up. Dante's promised ten minutes had turned into a full hour.

Just like Rosetta's death anniversary, he'd probably forgotten. While he was busy soothing Lucia, Silvia slipped his mind as well.

"Boss, this bitch looks like she's already dead!"

After the exchange of fire, the thugs assigned to watch Silvia returned.

"Stop talking and finish it! Ms. Pellini wants it to look like she froze to death by accident."

Footsteps approached. A military boot struck Silvia's shoulder hard. She didn't move.

The man lowered his guard and leaned down, reaching for her breath. "I'm freezing. She's bled that much. She's probably already…"

Silvia, who should've been long dead, suddenly opened her eyes.

With an audible crack, she forced her thumb bone out of joint and slipped free of the restraints. She seized the thug by the throat.

A butterfly knife slid from her sleeve and drove straight into his trachea. As he doubled over in pain, she used his momentum and slammed his head hard into the refrigeration pipe beside them.

Blood and bone burst outward. He never got a sound out before he went down.

"Fuck! This bitch was playing dead!"

The other man snapped to it and swung a steel bar.

Silvia had just miscarried. She could barely feel her lower body and couldn't dodge in time. She didn't retreat. She stepped in and took the blow.

Her forearm bone cracked, but she didn't slow. She slashed once, clean and decisive, and the man's throat opened.

Silvia coughed as she stripped a coat from the body and pulled it around herself. She dragged her numb legs forward, steadying herself against the wall as she made her way out.

Outside, the storm was violent, but the smell of wet grass told her she was still alive. She'd made it out.

The place was an abandoned logistics yard, overgrown and soaked through with mud. Her sight swam as she crawled through the sludge, moving on instinct.

A short distance away, the Cullinan's headlights pierced the rain as it approached at a slow crawl.

Was Dante coming back?

Silvia still let herself believe that if her life were at stake, he'd think twice. That he wouldn't leave her behind so ruthlessly.

The vehicle came to a stop, close enough for her to see the rear seat clearly. Dante had Lucia wrapped in a cashmere throw and was feeding her milk a sip at a time.

"Stop the car first. She might choke."

He took a handkerchief and wiped Lucia's cheek with careful patience.

Lucia spoke with practiced concern, "Dante, are we really not waiting for Silvia? She's still inside."

Dante replied in a calm, measured voice, "No. This area's remote, and the signal's poor. I've already contacted a nearby rescue team. They'll arrive shortly.

"Silvia has professional training. This kind of cold won't kill her. You're different. You've been shaken. You need to get treatment immediately."

After Lucia finished the last sip, Dante immediately spoke to the driver, "Drive! Take us home. Have the hospital director ready the anti-shock treatment and psychological intervention specialists."

"Si, Don Valenti."

Silvia lay sprawled in the mud, wanting to call out to tell him she was cold as well.

Her child was gone, her finger was broken, and she had fractured bones. She wasn't as indestructible as he thought. She was close to death.

Blood and foam filled her throat, leaving her unable to speak.

The luxury car's tires spun hard as it sped through standing water. As they departed, mud was thrown up and scattered in all directions.

A mass of black sludge mixed with grit and dead leaves splattered across Silvia's face. Some of it entered her mouth, rank and filthy. She coughed the mud and sand out, lay back, and stopped fighting.

Was it about to end like this?

She closed her eyes and let the heavy rain take her.

In the last moment before she lost consciousness, she heard the shriek of brakes and a rush of footsteps closing in.

Someone cried out, voice breaking, "Principessa!"