Chapter 8
583words
She struggled, and Enzo's grip loosened with his agitation. The black document envelope slipped from his hand and struck the polished marble floor with a sharp crack.
The wax seal split on impact. A stack of papers spilled out and scattered across the floor. Several pages drifted to Enzo's feet. He looked down without thinking.
The top sheet was an official hospital diagnosis and surgical report.
Patient: Sophia Vitale
Diagnosis: Severe blunt force trauma in late pregnancy, resulting in placental abruption and massive intrauterine hemorrhage. The fetus showed no vital signs after delivery.
Procedure: Emergency cesarean extraction and partial hysterectomy.
The date of surgery matched the day of the armory explosion.
His tall frame swayed, as if an invisible sledgehammer had struck him. His hands trembled as he bent down and gathered the papers. The thin sheets felt heavier than steel.
"The child…" His voice carried raw disbelief and terror. "The child is really gone. Sophia didn't lie to me…"
He whispered the words, as though saying them aloud might somehow undo the truth.
Then his voice broke.
"It was you!" Enzo roared.
Pain tore through every word as hatred boiled over. "You did this, Monica! You liar! You toxic bitch! You blew up the armory! You got Sophia gravely injured! You killed my child!"
Monica saw the change in his expression and understood that everything had gone terribly wrong. She stopped denying it. She fell back on her final instinct when cornered. She confessed and begged.
"Don! I was wrong! I admit it! I did it! I blew up the armory! I planned it! I did it because I loved you too much!" She sobbed without coherence, clawing at her last shred of hope.
"Don, for the sake of all the years I've loved you. For the sake of the child in my womb, please forgive me this once! I swear I'll never dare again!" Her crying sounded pitiful and desperate.
In the past, it might have stirred a trace of sympathy.
Enzo laughed quietly.
Monica mistook the sound for softening, for mercy, for forgiveness. She cried even harder. "Yes, I love you, Don. I've always loved only you—"
She did not finish the sentence.
Enzo drew back his leg and kicked her with all his strength, straight into her swollen abdomen.
"Ah!!!" The scream ripped through the hall.
Monica flew backward several feet and slammed into the leg of the champagne tower table. Glass shattered across the floor.
She curled in on herself, both hands clamped over her stomach. Blood seeped rapidly between her fingers, staining the white hem of her gown a vivid red.
"You killed my child," Enzo said coldly. "Then the one in your womb can accompany him."
The words landed like a final verdict. Whatever hope or pretense remained collapsed at once. Pain, despair, betrayal, and abandonment rushed in to take its place.
Madness surged through her. "Enzo! You bastard! You monster!"
Her scream rang with pure hatred.
"The one who killed your child was you! You were blind enough to believe me! You chose your precious godsister over your own wife and left her to die!
"I only lit the match. You poured the fuel and handed over the knife! You're the real murderer! You deserve to die childless! The Galante family deserves to burn in hell!"
