The Blind Don's Unwanted Ghost Wife
Chapter 5
Gianna's POV
Dante's expression froze.
He just stood there, completely motionless, like a stone statue. The night wind swept through the graveyard, blowing his hair and the open edges of his suit jacket.
He stared at the soldier, his lips moving, but no sound came out.
Then he suddenly lunged forward, snatching the phone. He pressed it against his ear, his voice so hoarse it sounded like his throat was tearing apart:
"Say that again."
A broken, crackling voice came through the line, every word stabbing into his chest like a knife:
"Medical records... confirmed... Miss Gianna... cornea donation... post-operative infection... deceased... cemetery registered on Luther Road..."
Dante's hand was shaking.
He gripped the phone, his knuckles turning white. I felt like the plastic casing was about to crack in his palm.
"Lies." He spoke into the receiver, his voice low but frantic. "You're all lying to me. My men, her family, you're all lying to me."
The voice on the other end swore on his life. The intelligence was verified. There was no mistake.
The phone slipped from Dante's ear.
He stood there, staring at the photo on the tombstone.
My eyes. That black-and-white face, looking back at him so peacefully.
Rosa picked herself up from the ground. She stood behind Dante, her voice hoarse but clear:
"I should have locked her in her room. I should have stopped her, absolutely forbidden her from giving those eyes to you."
Dante whipped around.
"Shut up!" he roared, his voice exploding in the silent graveyard. "Shut up! Do you hear me?!"
He pointed a trembling finger at the tombstone: "She isn't dead! She can't be dead! Francesca gave me those corneas! It was her! Not Gianna!"
Rosa looked at him, her eyes filled with pity.
"Dig it up." Dante turned to his soldiers, his voice frantic and unhinged. "Dig up this grave right now."
The soldiers looked at each other hesitantly.
"Dig!" Dante bellowed. "Dig right now!"
Shovels bit into the earth. The sound was deafening in the dead of night.
Rosa surged forward but was caught by the soldiers and pinned to the ground. She struggled, screaming:
"You animal! Can't you even leave her final resting place in peace?!"
Dante ignored her. He stared at the deepening hole, his breathing growing heavier and faster.
Rain began to fall.
It started as a few drops, but quickly turned into a torrential downpour. The rain soaked the tombstone, soaked my photo, and soaked the dirt piling up by the edge of the pit.
The soldiers kept digging.
The shovels hit the dirt with muffled thuds. A damp scent of decay and rotting leaves wafted up.
Finally, a shovel hit something solid.
The soldiers stopped, looking down into the bottom of the pit. A heavy marble urn, half-buried in the mud.
They lifted it out.
The marble urn was caked in mud. The rain washed over it, carving trails of muddy water down its sides.
A soldier hesitated for a second, then handed it to Dante.
Dante reached out.
The moment his fingers touched the cold, filthy marble, his entire body started to tremble. He held the urn like he was holding the most precious, yet heaviest, thing in the world.
A soldier pointed into the open grave: "Boss, there's something else down there."
Dante looked down.
Half-buried in the loose dirt was a small silver object.
He froze.
He slowly squatted down and reached out. His fingers touched the cold metal, plucking it from the mud.
A silver watch.
He recognized it.
It was the first-anniversary gift he had given me. The watch he had personally fastened around my wrist.
The silver chain was caked in mud. The inscription carved on the back was obscured by the dirt.
Dante's hand began to shake violently.
The marble urn slipped from his numb fingers, crashing onto a rock half-buried in the dirt. With a dull thud, a crack spiderwebbed up the side of the urn.
Then, it broke apart.
My ashes spilled out onto the wet mud. The rain immediately washed them into a dark paste, blending them with the earth.
Dante stared at the pile of ashes.
He stared at the mud-covered watch.
He fell to his knees.
He kneeled in the rain, kneeled in the mud, right next to my scattered ashes. He gripped the watch, pressing it tightly against his chest. His lips moved, but he made no sound.
Then he started to laugh.
It was a hysterical, blood-curdling laugh. He threw his head back, rain hitting his face as he laughed, his entire body shaking.
"Fake..." he muttered, his voice breaking. "It's a fake... she faked her death... she left the watch just to make the lie more convincing..."
The laughter morphed into choking sobs.
He clutched his chest, bending over as violent, racking sobs tore through his throat. He kneeled in the mud, screaming my name over and over:
"Gianna... Gianna..."
The rain poured harder.
The soldiers stood a short distance away, looking at each other, none daring to approach.
Rosa picked herself up from the mud. She walked over to my tombstone, kneeled down, and traced my photo with her fingers. She didn't look at Dante again.
Dante stayed on his knees for a long time.
Then he staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunkard.
Clutching the watch, he turned away from the grave. He didn't look back at the scattered ashes, didn't look back at Rosa kneeling in the rain.
He walked off into the storm.
I floated behind him, watching him.
He walked in the rain for half an hour. The downpour soaked straight through his expensive suit, his hair plastered to his forehead, his face like a walking corpse.
He finally got into a car.
He started the engine and slammed the gas pedal. The car tore through the city, blowing through red light after red light.
The hospital.
He got out of the car and walked into the building. The elevator, the hallway, the door to the VIP suite.
He stood in front of the door.
His face was devoid of expression. A dead, eerie calmness.
He lifted his heavy boot and kicked the door open.
The wooden door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.
Francesca jumped up from the bed.
She stared straight at the doorway. Straight at him.
She forgot to pretend she was blind.
Dante walked into the room. He stood in front of her, rainwater dripping from his suit, pooling on the floor beneath him.
He stared at her.
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Francesca's lips started to quiver.
Dante spoke. His voice was low, seeping through his teeth like lethal venom:
"Francesca."
He paused.
"You can actually see... can't you?"
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