Sold To The Mafia Don

Chapter 230 - 40 ~ Jace

The hospital walls felt too white.Not clean. Not sterile.

Just white and... empty.

Like the inside of my chest.

I walked beside the gurney as they rushed Mira down the corridor — my hands on her, my breath tangled with hers, my heart beating so violently I could hear it over the sound of the wheels hitting tile.

Her fingers kept slipping from mine.

I kept pulling them back.

I couldn’t let go.

I couldn’t stop touching her.

Because the moment I did, it felt like she would disappear.

"Sir, you need to stand back—"

"No."

I didn’t even raise my voice. I didn’t have to. A single look froze the nurse in place.

They pushed her into a room. I followed until a doctor blocked the door with both arms spread wide like he could physically stop me from entering.

"You can’t come in. She needs immediate intervention—"

"I’m not leaving my wife."

"You have to," he insisted. "Please. Let us do our job."

The words hit harder because they weren’t confrontational.

They were afraid.

Not of me... but of the situation.

Even worse.

That fear slammed straight into my ribs.

Mira lay on that hospital bed pale, shaking, tears streaking down her face. She kept whispering something — no, someone — our daughter’s name, the one we hadn’t told anyone yet.

She wasn’t whispering it like a mother planning the future.

She was whispering it like a prayer she was terrified wouldn’t be answered.

My throat burned.

The doctor stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Mr. Romano... we’re going to do everything we can. But we need you to let us work."

I didn’t have the strength to argue.

Not when I could see the red staining the sheets under her.

Not when her face contorted from another wave of pain.

Not when her voice broke on a sob.

"Jace..."

That single word shattered me.

It was barely more than a breath. It sounded soft, fragile, terrified and it hit harder than any bullet I’d ever taken. I pushed past the doctor for one second, leaned over her, and pressed my forehead to hers.

"I’m here," I whispered because my voice couldn’t manage anything else. "I’m right here."

Her fingers curled weakly around mine.

"Don’t leave," she whispered.

That nearly killed me.

"I won’t," I promised, kissing her knuckles, her cheek, any part of her I could reach. "I’m not going anywhere. I swear it."

But she was slipping, her eyelids fluttering, her breath turning too thin, too fast.

The doctor dragged me away as her consciousness broke like fragile glass.

I fought him — God, I fought him — but the door sealed shut, locking her inside.

And locking me out.

The moment the door clicked, my knees nearly buckled.

The hallway tilted.

My vision dipped.

I grabbed the wall to steady myself.

I hadn’t felt this helpless since I was a child standing over my father’s body, watching him bleed out.

But this was worse.

Because this time I wasn’t losing a man who taught me brutality.

This time I might lose the only person who ever taught me love.

Mira.

My Mira.

My life.

The only woman who had ever made this world worth staying in.

Tomas approached carefully, like he was approaching a wounded animal.

"Jace..."

I didn’t answer.

He tried again. "They caught the guy from the event. Security has him—"

"I don’t care."

My voice cracked.

I didn’t recognize the sound.

"He may know who—"

"Not. Now." I cut him off with a deathly tone.

He went silent.

I dragged both hands down my face, trying to breathe, trying to think, but every thought I had was Mira bleeding in a hospital room.

I paced the hallway like a madman.

Three nurses flinched when they tried to walk past me.

A guard stepped aside before I reached him.

A doctor looked at me like he wanted to say something but then thought better of it.

I didn’t care how I looked.

I didn’t care who saw me like this.

I cared about one thing.

One woman.

One heartbeat.

One life.

My wife.

My child.

My entire world.

Minutes passed.

Hours passed.

Time didn’t feel real.

The only thing that brought me back into my body was the sudden sound of Mira’s cry from behind those doors — a weak, painful cry — and then nothing.

No sound.

No movement.

No heartbeat monitors.

Just silence.

"Open the door," I said, stepping forward.

One nurse panicked. "Sir, please—"

"Open this fucking door."

A doctor rushed out just as my hand reached for the handle.

I snapped toward him. "What’s happening? Where is my wife?!"

"She’s alive," he said quickly, raising both hands. "She’s stable for now."

For now.

Two words that made my vision go white.

"And the baby?" My voice was barely more than a breath.

He inhaled slowly.

"She’s fighting. We have her in neonatal care. She’s small but strong."

I closed my eyes.

Relief crashed into me so violently it nearly took me off my feet. But the doctor wasn’t finished.

"Mrs Romano lost a significant amount of blood," he continued gently. "Her body is exhausted. We’re monitoring her closely. She’s unconscious, but responding."

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until air rushed out of me like someone had punched me in the stomach.

"Can I see her?"

"We’re preparing her for recovery. Give us ten minutes."

Ten minutes.

It felt like ten years.

When they finally let me in, I swear I almost fell to my knees.

She looked so small in that bed.

So pale.

So still.

Her hair stuck to her forehead. Her lips were dry. The IV line pierced her arm, and the sheet was tucked over her like she needed protection from the world.

My Mira.

My strong, stubborn, fiery Mira.

I sat beside her bed and took her hand in both of mine, lifting it to my lips. Her skin was warm — barely — but warm enough.

My chest cracked open.

I bowed my head until my forehead rested against the back of her hand.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking for the first time in years. "I’m so fucking sorry, Mira."

The tears came before I could stop them.

They were silent but heave and they burned trails down my face.

I didn’t care if anyone saw me at this point. I was a man with a broken heart.

"I should’ve been there. I should’ve stayed with you. I should’ve protected you." My voice trembled uncontrollably. "I promised you peace, and all I’ve done is bring shadows into your life."

She didn’t stir.

She didn’t squeeze my hand.

She just lay there, breathing softly through the oxygen mask.

"I can’t lose you," I whispered, voice cracking again. "I can’t. I won’t survive it."

The machines beeped steadily.

Her chest rose and fell.

I cupped her face gently with my other hand.

"You hear me?" My voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "You fight, Mira. You fight for me. For our daughter. For the life we built. I’ll give up everything—everything—if you just open your eyes."

My head lowered again. I pressed my lips to her hand, her wrist, her knuckles — anywhere I could reach.

"I love you," I whispered against her skin. "I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me."

A soft knock at the door made me lift my head.

A nurse peeked in.

"Mr. Romano..." she said gently, "you can see your daughter now, if you want."

My throat tightened painfully.

My daughter.

Our daughter.

The tiny fighter who survived all this.

I looked at Mira again.

I kissed her forehead.

"I’ll be right back," I whispered. "And then we’ll all be together. I promise."

I stood.

But before I followed the nurse, I leaned over Mira one last time, brushing my thumb across her cheek.

"Don’t worry, baby," I whispered. "Anyone who did this... anyone who even breathed in your direction tonight... they’re already dead."

And I meant every single word.