Entangled with the Mafia Don novel Chapter 74

Ezra's POV

The double doors of the trauma suite were a slab of sterile, white plastic that felt like the gates of a tomb. Behind them, the muffled, rhythmic thumping of a chest compressor and the sharp, electronic chirp of a flatline monitor were the only sounds in the universe.

"Clear!" a voice muffled by the walls barked.

I flinched as the sound of the defibrillator echoed—a dull thump that I felt in my own marrow. I was leaning against the cold tile of the hallway, my legs vibrating so violently I had to lock my knees to keep from collapsing. I looked down at my hands. They were stained a dark, crusty crimson. Her blood was under my fingernails, caked into the creases of my palms, drying on the sleeves of a suit that cost more than a common man earned in a year.

It was all worthless. The money, the power, the fear I commanded—it couldn't buy a single heartbeat.

The elevator at the end of the hall hissed open. Andrea stepped out, his face a mask of grim duty. But it was the woman beside him that made the air turn to lead.

Lexi.

She looked gaunt, her eyes hollowed out by a grief that was already bottomless. But the moment her gaze landed on me—standing there like a blood-soaked ghost—the grief transformed into something sharp, jagged, and lethal.

She didn't run to the doors. She walked straight toward me, her footsteps echoing like a death march. Andrea tried to place a hand on her shoulder to steady her, but she snarled and shook him off, her eyes fixed on mine with a disdain so pure it felt like a physical burn.

"You," she whispered, the word dripping with venom.

I couldn't speak. I couldn't even look her in the eye. I just leaned there, a broken king in a hallway of white light.

"You promised her safety," Lexi said, her voice rising, shaking with a volcanic rage. "You told her you were the only one who could protect her! And look at you, Ezra. Look at the blood on your hands!"

"Lexi, please," I rasped, my voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

"Don't you 'Lexi' me!" she screamed, lunging forward. She slammed her fists into my chest, her small frame vibrating with a strength born of pure agony. "My husband is dead. He wasn't perfect, but he was steal the father of my child, and now he is dead, because of you! My child is gone—buried in the dirt because of your name, your wars, your filth! And now you’ve brought my sister here to die?"

I didn't fight back. I let her strike me. I deserved the blows. I deserved the hatred.

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