The silence in the room was brittle. The guards shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between the boss's right hand and his wife.
Nico's eyes burned with a mix of respect and hatred. Slowly, agonizingly, he stepped back.
The doctors swarmed. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was the only sound as the anesthesia began to take hold.
But as they pressed the mask onto Matteo's face, his good hand suddenly flailed, catching the doctor's wrist with a crushing grip.
His eyes didn't open, he spoke.
"Ana..." he wheezed.
"Where is..." He coughed.
"Where is Anastasia?"
In the dark, shifting hallway of death, he was reaching for the woman he should never have touched.
She pushed past the nurses and took Matteo's blood-stained hand. His fingers instantly locked around hers, but after a few seconds the anesthesia made him slip away.
