After Hearing My Mafia Boyfriend’s Thoughts, I Chose To Die Alone

Three days ago, the Lucchese Family's assassins ambushed a Moretti Family stronghold, and I threw myself in front of Eric without a second thought. That was the fourth time I'd taken a bullet for him. But before I could even begin to recover from the gunshot wound, my attending physician handed me an even more devastating diagnosis: late-stage brain cancer. The tumor had already metastasized, and I had less than a month to live. Just as I sat there in agony,Eric walked in，he strode to my bedside and took my hand, his expression tender with concern. Knowing I only had days left, I tested the waters. "Eric... when are we getting married? Will you marry me?" "Soon, soon, sweetheart. Trust me. Once I've secured the Don's seat and cleared out all those old men in the Family who oppose me, I'll give you the most spectacular wedding this country has ever seen. I'll make sure everyone knows that you, Selena, are the only woman worthy of standing by my side." His voice was so sincere that it could have fooled anyone. But in that very instant, I heard another voice. [Damn it, why is Selena bringing up marriage now? Doesn't she know I'm at the most critical moment in the power struggle? Angelina is the Astalotta Family's princess. Only by marrying her can I get her father's backing and secure my position as the Moretti Don once and for all.] [Marrying Angelina is just a strategic move. I'm putting on a show with her, using her family's influence. Selena is the true love of my life. Why can't she just be a little more understanding and stop pressuring me at the worst possible time?] I could hear Eric's thoughts. And what chilled me to the bone was the brutal truth hidden in those thoughts. I closed my eyes, exhausted. I didn't expose him. I didn't have the strength to confront him. I was out of time. Chapter 1 Ten years ago, he was nothing more than an unwanted illegitimate son of the Moretti Family, living on the streets. He'd been hunted by enemies and left bleeding in the rain. I was the one who carried him back to my run-down apartment and spent my meager wages from odd jobs on his medicine. To help him gain a foothold in the blood-soaked Moretti Family, I gave up any chance at a normal life. I learned to handle a gun and fought my way through the underworld. I shielded him from lethal attacks. I even hid inside a freezer for ten straight hours to help him transport a weapons shipment, nearly freezing to death. Back then, he would hold my hand tightly as we huddled in an unheated basement, his eyes full of devotion as he dreamed aloud about our future. He said we'd go to Sicily, buy a white villa on the Amalfi Coast, and live a quiet, peaceful life. I thought we were each other's salvation. But now, hearing the cold calculations in his heart and looking at that face so full of feigned devotion, I finally understood. He was never going to marry me. He was going to marry the mafia princess, and I was nothing more than a stepping stone on his path to power, a tool he'd used and would discard. Eric had barely sat at my bedside for a few minutes before his phone began buzzing furiously in his suit pocket. He killed the call almost instinctively, then turned to me with an apologetic smile. "Selena, just a little Family business. I'll be right back." He deliberately moved away from me, retreating to the far corner of the balcony to return the call. But every word of his conversation reached my ears with perfect clarity. "Darling, why are you calling now?" Eric's voice was low and sweet, almost fawning. It was a tone he'd never once used with me. "Didn't I tell you? I'm in a meeting going over the Moretti Family's accounts..." Angelina's shrill, cutting voice came through the phone. "Eric! Stop hiding behind Family meetings! I don't care what you're doing. Get to the luxury boutiques on Fifth Avenue and pick me up, now! If you make me wait more than ten minutes, the arms license my father gave your Family is finished!" Eric panicked. A thin sheen of cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he scrambled to soothe her. "Okay, okay, my little princess, don't be upset. I'm on my way. Ten minutes, no, I'll be there in five." After hanging up, Eric took a deep breath and worked to rearrange his expression. By the time he walked back to my bedside, his face was a portrait of reluctance and regret. "Selena, sweetheart, I'm so sorry." He sat down and took my hand, his face full of guilt. "A gang fight just broke out at the docks. Rivals are tearing up our territory. As the Don, I have to go handle it personally, or the men will lose faith." He sighed, looking as though he had no choice. But at the same time, his thoughts detonated in my mind like a bomb: [Damn it! Of all times, Angelina decides she wants to go shopping now. If I'm late, that lunatic will run crying to her father again. The Astalotta Family controls nearly half our money-laundering channels. I absolutely cannot afford to offend her right now.] [And Selena. She couldn't have picked a worse time to be lying in a hospital bed. I really don't have time to sit around here.] I stared at his handsome face, my own as white as a sheet. My chest heaved with each ragged breath, and the gunshot wound that had been stitched up only days ago pulled at raw flesh, sending searing pain through my body. I reached out a trembling hand and tried to catch the edge of his jacket. My voice was weak, almost begging. "But Eric, you've only been here five minutes. It hurts so much. The painkillers aren't working anymore. I feel so cold, like I'm about to die... Stay and talk to me for just a little while, please? Just ten minutes." I watched Eric's sharp brows furrow the moment he heard my plea. His irritation had reached its peak. [What's wrong with her today? She used to take a bullet and be back on her feet the next day, helping me go over the books. When did she get so needy? Angelina is waiting at the store. If I'm late, my claim to the Don's seat is finished!] Despite the storm raging inside him, Eric forced himself to crouch down, pressed a perfunctory kiss to my forehead, and said softly, "Selena, be good. You've always been the strongest, the most understanding." His voice was gentle, the kind of gentle you'd use to comfort a fool. "Once you're better, I'll make it up to you properly. You've always wanted to see the ocean in Sicily, haven't you? When everything settles down, I'll take you around the world. We'll buy a villa on the Amalfi Coast, just for us. How does that sound?" I thought of the Amalfi Coast. That was the promise we'd made when things were at their worst, clinging to each other in a moldy basement. Now, the very promise that had carried me through years of bloodshed had become his cheap excuse to brush me off and walk away. Just then, the door opened, and a young nurse hurried in, her expression tense. "Ms. Moretti, it's time for your cerebral angiogram and lumbar puncture. These procedures carry a serious risk of intracranial bleeding. A family member or partner must remain available to sign an emergency consent form if necessary." The nurse looked at Eric standing nearby, then at me lying weak in the bed. Her expression grew solemn. As part of the attending team, she clearly knew about my terminal brain cancer diagnosis and that I had only a month left. She took a deep breath and turned to Eric. "Mr. Moretti, regarding Selena's true cond—" "Nurse!" I raised my voice sharply, cutting her off mid-sentence. The effort sent a wave of tightness through my chest, and I fought to suppress the discomfort. From where Eric couldn't see me, I shook my head desperately at the nurse, my eyes pleading with her to stop. I couldn't let Eric find out about the cancer. I didn't want him staying at my bedside out of guilt or obligation. Every bit of care, every moment he spent with me would become nothing more than pity and charity for a dying woman. I didn't need his charity, and I certainly didn't want his cheap sympathy. The nurse looked into my desperate eyes, and in the end, she sighed, unable to bear it. She pressed her lips together and said nothing. Eric glanced between me and the nurse, somewhat puzzled. "A routine brain scan needs a signature? Selena only has a gunshot wound. Did she hit her head?" "Yes, just a mild concussion. The doctor is being cautious, that's all." I spoke up first, forcing a pale but dutiful smile. "Eric, go to the docks. The Family's business comes first. I can handle this on my own." He hesitated for exactly one second before standing up. "Selena, you really are the perfect partner. Meeting you is the greatest blessing of my life." He straightened his tie. "Be good. Get the tests done and rest. I'll be back early tonight to have dinner with you." Then, without so much as a backward glance, he strode out of the room. The instant the door clicked shut, his thoughts echoed through my mind again, dripping with relief: [Thank God she didn't cling. Selena really is so much less trouble than Angelina. Next time. Next time I'll set aside a whole day just for you, Selena. Wait for me. I'll make it up to you tenfold.] Next time, he had promised. My parched lips trembled. In a voice barely above a whisper, I said: "There won't be a next time, Eric. For us, it's already too late." Chapter 2 With no family member beside me, I had to sign the informed-consent form acknowledging the risks myself, my hand shaking the entire time. "Ms. Moretti, the puncture will be extremely painful. Local anesthetic may not block the deep pressure as the needle passes between the vertebrae, and changes in spinal-fluid pressure can hurt. If it becomes unbearable, cry out." The doctor sighed as he picked up a steel needle nearly four inches long. To avoid putting pressure on the gunshot wound in my chest, I had to hold an extremely awkward, physically draining position the entire time. When the long needle pierced my skin and muscle and slid between my vertebrae into the spinal canal, pain detonated through my body. "Ngh..." I bit down on my lip so hard it bled. In the bed next to mine, a young woman was undergoing a similar procedure. Her husband held her tightly, kissing away her tears, murmuring softly, "Baby, I'm here. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt..." And me? I was a terminal cancer patient counting down my last days, with no one left to love her. By the time I finally endured the agonizing procedure and the nurses wheeled me back to my room, the sky outside had gone completely dark. I lay alone in the empty hospital room. Eric never came back. No phone call. No text. He hadn't even sent one of his men to check on me. Remembering his earnest promise to "come back early for dinner," I felt like an absolute fool. At two in the morning, waves of crushing headaches surged one after another, relentless as the tide. The tumor in my brain was pressing against my nerves with a vengeance. The pain made sleep impossible. All I could do was pick up my phone with trembling hands and open the encrypted photo album. Inside were ten years of memories with Eric. Eight years ago, we'd hidden from enemies in an abandoned warehouse in Queens. It was freezing. Our bodies were numb with cold, and all we could do was hold each other under a single moldy blanket, surviving on a can of expired, ice-cold beans. Eric's teeth chattered so hard he could barely speak, but he still held me tight, shielding me with his body. "Selena," he'd said, "when I become Don, I'll feed you the finest foie gras every damn day and dress you in the prettiest dresses." Five years ago, I took a bullet to my left shoulder that nearly cost me my arm. On the grimy leather couch of a back-alley clinic, Eric wept like a little boy who'd lost his favorite toy. He knelt in front of me, kissing my blood-soaked bandages over and over, sobbing and begging me not to leave him. He said I was a part of him and that without me, he couldn't survive a single day. So why, now that he finally had power and status, had he become so cold? While I was lost in the pain of those memories, my phone screen suddenly lit up. An unknown number had sent me a video. I opened it. The footage showed an opulent revolving restaurant high above the city. Eric and Angelina sat together beside the windows. Angelina wore a red couture gown, looking every bit the haughty queen, ordering Eric to cut the steak on her plate. Eric showed no displeasure. Instead, his expression was tender, almost submissively eager to please, as he fed the neatly sliced steak to her lips. Angelina giggled and playfully pinched his chin. Then she splashed the rest of her wine across his expensive suit. In the video, Eric didn't get angry. He wrapped his arm around Angelina's waist with an indulgent smile and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. Then came a message, dripping with arrogance: [See that, Selena? The man you nearly died protecting is nothing but an obedient dog in front of me. I heard you took another bullet for him? What a pathetic, worthless gutter rat. If you know what's good for you, get out of the Moretti house. Next Wednesday is my wedding to Eric. I don't want any disgusting trash ruining my appetite.] I stared at the message. I watched Eric in the video, leaning in to kiss Angelina. My stomach churned violently. I didn't cry. I didn't even feel angry. When a person has given up all hope in someone, they can't cry. I didn't sleep that night. Chapter 3 Morning came. Eric finally showed up. He'd changed into a fresh suit, but I could still catch the faint trace of Angelina's jasmine perfume clinging to him. He carried an expensive-looking insulated food carrier. "Selena, I'm sorry. Last night, the negotiations with the old guard ran into complications and dragged on until dawn." Wearing a mask of guilt and concern, Eric hurried to my bedside and opened the carrier. Inside were exquisite French truffle waffles and fresh wild berries. "Look, I went halfway across New York to get breakfast from your favorite place. Here, try a bite." He cut off a piece of waffle and lifted the fork to my lips. But the instant he opened his mouth, his thoughts blasted through my mind before his words even finished: [God, I'm exhausted. I was up until dawn dealing with Angelina and her impossible temper. This breakfast was made by Angelina's personal chef. She threw a fit because the waffles weren't fluffy enough and tossed them on the table. I grabbed them on my way out. Selena's not picky anyway. A little sweet talk and she'll be fine. As long as she doesn't make a scene, I just need to get through next week.] I jerked my head away, coughing violently. "Take it away... Eric, I don't want it. Just leave it." My voice was hoarse and drained. A flash of impatience crossed Eric's eyes, but he set the container aside without a word. From his pocket, he produced a gold-embossed envelope and placed it gently on my blanket. "All right, if you don't want it. Selena, these are the flight details for a private jet to Hawaii next week, along with the itinerary for a luxury recovery villa." Eric held my hand tenderly. "You've worked too hard all these years. Go to Hawaii next week and focus on healing. The sunshine and private care there will do you good. Once I've taken care of everything here, I'll come get you, and we'll never be apart again, okay?" [Perfect. As long as I get her to Hawaii next week and cut off all her contact with the outside world, she'll never find out about the wedding. The Astalotta Family cares about nothing more than its name. There can't be a single hiccup. Once the wedding's done and the deal is sealed, even if Selena finds out, she'll have no choice but to accept it. Worst case, I'll buy her a villa on Long Island, keep her comfortable, throw some money at her. She loves me so much. She'll understand that my hands were tied.] Listening to him scheme, I lowered my lashes and hid the emptiness in my eyes. "Eric." My voice was perfectly flat. "What about next Wednesday? Are you really not hiding anything from me?" Eric's composure didn't crack. He pressed a gentle kiss to my fingertips. "Sweetheart, why would I hide anything from you? Everything I'm doing is for our future. Trust me, okay?" Just then, a knock came at the door, and several tall, broad-shouldered figures walked in. It was Marco Bellini and Tony Russo. They were core members of the Moretti Family, who'd crawled out of the same piles of dead bodies alongside Eric and me all those years ago. Marco had once been trapped in a burning SUV during a shootout in Chicago. I was the one who braved a hail of bullets, pried open the door with a steel rod, and dragged him out despite the searing burns on my arm. Tony's mother had fallen seriously ill. I was the one who secretly used my own savings to send her to Switzerland for surgery. The moment they walked in, their faces wore smiles so stiff and forced they practically screamed guilt. "Selena! You're awake! How are you feeling?" Marco laughed too loudly and set a bouquet of lilies on the table. "Yeah, Selena, you really scared us this time. But the Don's got it all arranged. He's sending you to Hawaii next week for a vacation. Great place to recover!" Tony chimed in. I watched them calmly. When Marco spoke, his eyes darted involuntarily to the lower right. That was his telltale sign of lying. His hand stayed shoved in his suit pocket the entire time. And peeking from the edge of that pocket was the corner of a red-and-gold card. Eric and Angelina's wedding invitation. So they all knew. These "guys" I'd risked my life protecting for ten years, the Moretti Family members I'd trusted with my life, had gathered here to help Eric deceive me. "Selena, just go enjoy your vacation. We'll hold down the fort. The Don's been swamped with the port deal, running around nonstop. Once he wraps things up, he'll fly straight to Hawaii to be with you." Marco smiled tightly, his eyes darting away from mine. I looked at them, and a wave of bitter absurdity washed over me. This was what ten years of my youth, a body full of scars, and a life on the line had bought me. These friends. This love. "Sure." I heard my own voice answer, impossibly soft and obedient. "I'll go to Hawaii. I'll leave." The instant they heard my answer, Eric, Marco, and Tony all exhaled in unison, visibly relieved. In their eyes, I was still the same foolish woman who would endure any hurt for the sake of the Family, easy to placate and easy to fool. What they didn't know was this: I would leave, yes. But my destination was anything but Hawaii. Chapter 4 Marco and Tony had barely left when Angelina stormed into my hospital room. Behind her, several bodyguards carried a pale-looking middle-aged woman. "Eric! Where the hell are you? Get over here!" Angelina's shrill voice echoed down the corridor. Eric, who'd been briefing his men in the next room, rushed over. "Darling, what's wrong? What's got you so upset?" "What's wrong? Maria Rossi, the nanny who raised me from birth, just collapsed from exhaustion!" Angelina jabbed a finger at me, then at the VIP suite with the best monitoring equipment in New York. "I want her in this room! Now. Get this woman out!" The attending physician and head nurse went pale and rushed to intervene. "Ms. Astalotta, absolutely not! Ms. Moretti just underwent emergency treatment. Her gunshot wound could hemorrhage at any moment, and her brain... Her condition is critical. She needs to remain in this ICU suite under continuous monitoring!" "Critical? What's so critical about her? She's just some lowlife who takes bullets for a man." Angelina scoffed, her eyes dripping with contempt. "Maria's life is worth ten thousand of hers! Eric, have you gone mute? Are you really going to defy me?!" A flash of agonized conflict crossed Eric's eyes. And in that instant, his thoughts crashed into my mind with devastating clarity: [What the hell is wrong with Angelina now? Maria is just a nanny. She fainted from low blood sugar. Put her in a regular room with a glucose drip and she'd be fine. And now she wants to take the Moretti Family's private VIP suite! Everyone's watching. She's deliberately humiliating me in front of my people, forcing me to choose!] [But... I can't refuse her. If I make her truly angry, my position as Don is finished! Selena, I'm sorry. You've always cared about me more than anyone. You'll understand, won't you? Just take it for me. Once I have the power, I'll find you the best doctors in the country. I'll make up for every bit of this!] Hearing his calculations, my stomach heaved with nausea. When weighed against absolute power and profit, my life, my pain, meant less to him than Angelina's nanny with low blood sugar. "Eric..." The attending physician protested once more. "Ms. Moretti's equipment..." "Enough. Don't bother." I had gone white by the time I quietly cut the doctor off. I struggled to sit up, and the sudden movement ripped open the wound in my chest. Bright red blood spread across my hospital gown. I did not so much as flinch. I simply looked at Eric. "If Ms. Astalotta needs the room, I'll move." Relief flooded Eric's face, and he seized the opportunity. "Selena, thank you. You're always so considerate. Don't worry, I'll arrange another place for you to recover." I didn't resist. I let two rough orderlies wheel my bed out of the VIP suite. They took me to the hospital's lowest level, the basement. It had originally been a defunct morgue, converted into a makeshift observation room. The air reeked of mildew, decay, and sewage. Black mold crept across the walls in thick patches. Even someone living on the street would have refused to stay in a place like this. "Ms. Moretti, this... this is an outrage!" The nurse followed me down, her eyes red and brimming with tears. "Your gunshot wound hasn't healed. An environment like this will cause serious infection! And with the tumor in your brain..." "It's fine. Thank you." I managed a weak smile, pulling the thin blanket up to my chin with trembling hands. It was barely thick enough to keep me warm. "I think it's nice here, actually. At least... it's quiet." The nurse ran out crying, saying she'd go find me an extra blanket. I lay on the bed alone when my phone buzzed on the pillow beside me. A text from Eric: [Selena, I'm sorry about what happened. Angelina was out of line. I've moved you to a quieter room so you can rest. I'll come see you later. Love you.] How ironic. He did not even know I'd been dumped in a basement that anyone living on the street would have refused. He'd dismissed me with a single cheap text. I didn't reply. Instead, I quietly booked a one-way ticket to Helsinki, Finland. Hawaii was too hot. It was not the right place for a dying woman. I wanted to go to Finland, a land of northern lights and snow, clean and free of blood and betrayal.