THE MAFIA KING BROKEN ROSE novel Chapter 58

Chapter 58

Dominic’s POV

The second we pulled up to the hospital, my men were already in motion.

Not just any hospital. Mine.

A place built on money, power, and fear. A place where no one asked questions, where doctors didn’t hesitate when I walked through the doors with a half–conscious, bruised woman in my arms.

“Move.” My voice was ice, my grip tightening around Aria’s limp form.

The nurses snapped to attention. Doors were thrown open, staff scrambling.

“Prepare a private suite,” one of them shouted. “We need a full workup. Now.”

I carried her through the hallways, my boots echoing against the pristine marble floors. People stared, but no one dared to stop me.

I didn’t set her down until we reached the private room.

A doctor rushed in–one of the best, a man who owed me far too much to hesitate.

He took one look at Aria and paled.

“She needs immediate attention,” he murmured, already pulling on gloves. “We need to check for-”

“She has cancer.”

The words were out before I could stop them.

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence.

Then, the doctor straightened. “What stage?”

I clenched my jaw. “I don’t know.”

His brows furrowed. “You..”

“I don’t fucking know.” My voice cracked, the weight of those words slamming into me like a freight train.

The doctor exchanged a look with one of the nurses. “We need scans. Bloodwork. Everything. Now.”

The nurses moved instantly, wheeling equipment into the room.

I stood there, my hands shaking.

Shaking.

I never fucking shook.

But this was Aría. My gattina.

The bruises on her body were bad enough. The way she looked–frail, small–was already gutting me from the inside out.

But the cancer?

I felt sick. I had been negligent.

I had been so fucking focused on keeping her under me, keeping her controlled, that I hadn’t seen.

Hadn’t noticed the way she winced when she thought I wasn’t looking.

Hadn’t questioned why she barely ate.

Hadn’t thought-

“Mr. De Luca.”

The doctor’s voice pulled me back.

I forced myself to breathe. “Tell me.”

He hesitated. “We’ll need the tests to be sure, but based on her records…” He exhaled. “It’s stomach cancer. Advanced.”

Something snapped inside me.

I gripped the edge of the bed so hard my knuck’s turned wh

“How long?” I demanded.

Successfully unlocked!

The doctor hesitated. “Without treatment? Months.”

I nearly broke something.

Months.

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I gulped. I closed my eyes to calm my nerves.

“She was on medication,” the nurse murmured, flipping through the files. “It looks like she stopped chemotherapy a while ago. Switched to oral drugs instead.”

I clenched my jaw. “And that works?”

“For some time,” the doctor admitted. “But chemo is aggressive for a reason. If the cancer spreads-”

“Fix it.”

He froze. “Excuse me?”

I turned to him, my voice dangerously low. “You’re one of the best doctors in this fucking country. So fix it.”

The doctor’s throat bobbed. “It’s not that simple.”

I grabbed the nearest chair and threw it against the wall.

Glass shattered. Metal twisted. The nurses flinched.

Aria stirred on the bed.

I breathed.

The doctor composed himself quickly. “We’ll do everything we can. But she needs treatment. The real kind. She needs chemotherapy again.”

I swallowed hard.

Chemo.

I looked at her, at the fragile rise and fall of her chest.

Would she even survive it?

Would she want to?

I had let this happen.

And now, watching her frail, bruised body lying on this hospital bed, barely breathing, barely holding on–I had never felt so helpless in my life.

The machines beeped softly, monitoring every breath, every heartbeat. The doctors worked efficiently, moving around her like a well–trained team, checking IVs, adjusting wires, whispering medical jargon that barely registered in my head.

I couldn’t look away from her face.

From the way her eyelashes trembled slightly, like she was caught between dreams and nightmares.

From the way her lips, chapped and pale, barely parted as she exhaled shallow, fragile breaths.

My hand curled into a fist.

And then-

I punched the wall.

Hard.

Pain shot through my knuckles, but I welcomed it.

Because fuck.

How had it come to this?

How had she been suffering like this, and I hadn’t seen it?

Now, I might lose her.

The thought made something cold and violent rise in my chest.

“How fast can we start the process?” I demanded, turning sharply toward the doctor. “I don’t care about money. I don’t care about regulations. Just tell me how quickly we can start fixing this.”

The doctor hesitated, exchanging a look with his colleagues.

“This is cancer, Mr. De Luca,” he said carefully. “It’s not something we can just–fix.”

I clenched my jaw. “Then do something. Anything.”

Another doctor, an older man with graying hair, stepped forward. “We have options. The chemotherapy she was on before-” “Didn’t fucking work,” I snapped.

“-was a milder form,” he finished. “That’s why she was able to switch to oral medication. But the cancer is aggressive. If we restart chemotherapy, it has to be stronger. Harsher.”

“Then do it.”

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Chapter 50

The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There are disadvantages.”

I stiffened. “Like what?”

“She’s already weak. The side effects will be severe–nausea, extreme fatigue, pain. Her immune system will be compromised, which means even a simple infection could be dangerous.”

I felt my pulse hammer in my skull.

“There are other methods,” another doctor spoke up. “Alternative treatments. Experimental therapies. But nothing is guaranteed.”

I ran a hand down my face, trying to steady my breathing.

“So you’re telling me…no matter what, she suffers?”

The doctor exhaled. “Yes.”

I looked at Aria again.

At her hollow cheeks.

At her trembling fingers.

At everything she had already endured.

And my heart skipped.

I swallowed hard. “What keeps her alive longest?”

Another pause.

Then-

“Intensive treatment,” the first doctor admitted. “Aggressive chemotherapy combined with targeted therapy. It’s painful, but it gives her the best shot at long–term survival.”

Long–term.

I latched onto those words like a lifeline.

“She’ll live?”

The doctor sighed. “It’s possible. But she’ll need to fight.”

I gritted my teeth. “She will.”

I will

I turned back to the team. “Get the best oncologists in the country. I want every fucking resource available. I don’t care what it costs, I don’t care who I have to threaten, just make it happen.”

The doctors hesitated for only a second before nodding.

They moved quickly, making calls, contacting specialists.

And I just sat there, gripping Aria’s hand.

Holding onto her.

Because no matter what-

I wasn’t letting go.

******

The hospital was quiet at this hour.

Most of the doctors had cleared out, only a few nurses lingering in the hallways, their voices hushed, their steps careful. The only sound in Aria’s room was the steady beep of the heart monitor and the slow, rhythmic breathing from the bed. She was asleep.

Finally.

I stood at the foot of the bed, watching her.

Her bruises had been covered, her skin looking less ghostly pale now that they had given her extra blood. The IV dripped steadily beside her, pumping whatever nutrients and fluids she needed back into her fragile body.

I didn’t move at first.

Didn’t touch her.

Didn’t even know why I had come back in here when I had already spoken to the doctors, when I had already made sure every goddamn resource in this hospital was focused on keeping her alive.

I told myself I was just checking in

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That I was only making sure she was still breathing, that nothing had changed while I had been dealing with the chaos outside these walls.

But then I saw it-

A faint sheen of sweat on her forehead.

A small crease between her brows, like even in her sleep, she was still fighting something.

Without thinking, I moved.

I grabbed a clean cloth from the bedside table, dampened it, and then–gently–wiped her forehead.

Her skin was warm beneath my touch, too warm.

I swallowed.

This was… too close.