Chapter 3

Gemma POV

A brutal storm was raging outside.

The new hospital was miles away, and my father needed a specialized armored medical convoy to survive the trip.

I pulled out my phone and tried to access the Family dispatch app.

"Account suspended," the screen flashed. Enzo had revoked my clearance.

I swallowed my pride and my simmering hatred, dialing his private number.

Heavy bass music thumped in the background when he finally answered. People were laughing loudly.

"Enzo, please," I begged, my voice cracking. "I need the armored convoy. My father has to be transferred or he will die."

A woman giggled over the line, the sound piercing straight through my chest. It was Valentina's birthday.

"You are being dramatic, Gemma." Enzo's voice was cold, bored.

"You are just trying to get my attention because you are locked out. Learn to respect my time, and I will respect yours."

He hung up before I could plead again.

The receiving hospital required me to be there before ten o'clock to sign the emergency surgical consent forms.

There were no cabs in sight.

Completely desperate, I ran into the pouring rain and flagged down a gypsy cab driver, offering him a thousand dollars in cash to brave the flooded streets.

Through the blinding downpour, the reckless driver couldn't see the intersection clearly.

A delivery van ran the red light.

The impact threw me violently against the cab's partition before I was ejected through the shattered side window.

I hit the wet asphalt, the sickening crack of my ribs echoing in my ears over the roar of the rain.

A horrifying snap echoed from my right leg as the bone fractured completely, and agony seared deep into my lower abdomen.

The crash site was only blocks away from the receiving hospital. Minutes later, paramedics loaded me into an ambulance and rushed me toward their ER.

With trembling, bloody fingers, I pulled out my shattered phone. I needed him to dispatch the Syndicate's private trauma team. The public hospital was in chaos, and I was bleeding out.

I called Enzo. Declined.

I called again. Declined.

I called him seven times as the ambulance siren wailed above me.

On the seventh try, he finally answered.

"Stop calling me, Gemma. Your tantrums are ruining the night."

The line went dead.

Hours later, I sat in a wheelchair in the emergency room, my ribs taped, my body screaming in agony.

I signed my father's surgical consent forms with a pen that slipped in my own dried blood.

Pale dawn broke through the hospital windows.

Enzo strode into the ER, looking immaculate and untouched by the storm.

He stopped when he saw my battered face, my torn clothes, and the wheelchair.

For a second, his arrogant mask slipped, revealing a flicker of genuine shock.

Then, just as quickly, his jaw hardened.

"Look what you did to yourself just to defy me," he sneered.

He placed a pink pastry box on my lap. It was leftover cake from Valentina's birthday party.

He pulled a pen from his pocket and dropped the hospital debt slip on top of the cake box.

"The hospital wants another hundred thousand. Sign the debt slip, and I pay it."

Before I could respond, a nurse called my name.

I wheeled myself into the examination room, leaving Enzo and his insulting cake behind.

The obstetrician looked at my lab results, her eyes heavy with pity.

"The trauma from the crash was too severe," she said softly. "I am so sorry. You suffered a complete miscarriage. You were seven weeks along."

"Pregnant?" I froze. The word echoed in my ears, completely foreign, completely devastating.

I was pregnant?

My trembling hand slowly moved to my bandaged, bruised abdomen.

"You experienced heavy bleeding after admission, and the ultrasound confirms it..." The doctor's voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. "The physical impact was the main trigger."

Seven weeks.

Seven weeks ago, Enzo had wrapped his arms around me from behind, smelling faintly of whiskey.

"Let's have a baby, Gemma," he had whispered into my hair.

I had laughed, teasing him. "I thought you hated people taking up your time?"

He had kissed my neck, his voice impossibly tender. "Our own child isn't 'people'."

So, there really had been a tiny life growing inside me.

A baby I didn't even know existed.

It came quietly, only to be killed tonight in this desperate, freezing storm.

Killed because its own father refused to answer my call for help.

No tears came.

The grief was too massive, too suffocating. It wrapped around my throat like a vice, choking the cries right out of me.

A cold, broken laugh scraped from the depths of my lungs.

I folded the blood-stained medical report.

I shoved it deep into the bottom of my bag, burying my unborn child along with my shattered heart.

I wheeled myself back out to the waiting room.

The chair next to the table was empty. The pink cake box sat alone.

A text from Enzo lit up my screen.

"Valentina's stomach hurts, and I am taking her to get checked. Eat the cake and reflect on your selfish tantrums tonight."