The Mafia Heir Who Came Back from the Grave

Forgetting my grief, I turned and ran wildly back toward the hospital.

As soon as I reached my mother's hospital, a mob of people claiming to be tabloid reporters from New York's underworld swarmed me.

"Ms. Elena, is it true you had a mental breakdown and hallucinated Mr. Castellano's death because he rejected you?"

"Your former classmates say you were an orphan raised by a janitor in Chinatown. Is that true?"

"Knowing full well Mr. Castellano is married, why did you keep harassing and slandering his wife? Can you give us a response?"

Camera flashes blinded me, the noise making my head throb.

I was sweating with anxiety, shoving through the crowd, my voice cracking with desperation.

"Please, let me through! It's an emergency! My mother is dying! I need to get to surgery!"

But they kept blocking me, demanding answers and snapping photos.

In the chaos, my phone slipped from my hand and was trampled into pieces. As I bent down to grab it, a woman slapped me hard across the face.

"Using your dying mother to gain sympathy? Disgusting!"

The woman was seemingly a rabid fan of Mia's, her tone sharp and cruel, full of contempt.

Dizzy from the blow, my cheek burning, despair and rage consumed me.

Just then, hospital security rushed in, shouting, "This is a hospital! No loitering! Get out!"

Seizing the chance, I sprinted upstairs. But the moment I burst into the ward, all my strength drained away.

My adoptive mother lay still on the bed, her face as pale as paper, her lips colorless.

The attending physician stood by the bed, his face full of regret and sorrow.

Seeing me, he sighed heavily. "Ms. Elena, I'm sorry. We did everything we could."

My pupils constricted, darkness swimming before my eyes. I nearly collapsed.

A nurse beside me held me up, whispering, "She was fine an hour ago. A woman came in, argued with her, and the old lady went into cardiac arrest on the spot."

"We initiated the emergency protocol, but the heart donor suddenly backed out."

Grief crushed my chest, but no sound would come out.

I gently shook off the nurse's hand and stumbled to the bedside, taking my mother's cold hand.

The woman who had given me warmth and strength in my darkest times would never open her eyes again, never call my name with a smile.

After crying until I was empty, I received a message from Leo. He told me he had compiled all the evidence.

Dragging my numb body, I walked onto the Brooklyn Bridge.

I recorded a video there, scheduling it to post automatically, and attached all the evidence Leo had given me. Then, without a shred of hesitation, I jumped.

On the other side of town, Vincent was accompanying Mia to her prenatal checkup, discussing potential names for the baby.

That's when Sonny's call came through.

"Vincent! Elena just jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge!"