The Don’s Consigliere Charged Me By The Minute To Touch Him Chapter 04
Five Minutes Late
[Elena’s POV]
I lost count of how many times I hit myself.
My face swelled until I could barely crack my eyes open. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes. My hand pressed against my abdomen — the incision from the kidney surgery screaming underneath.
Dante frowned. Something felt off.
He stepped forward — but Valentina hooked her arm through his and leaned in with a pout. “Boss, I’m exhausted. Flying back and forth with you for family business, then walking straight into your wife’s drama the second we land. My legs are killing me. Carry me?”
Dante smiled, squeezed her waist, and walked out with her on his arm.
At the door, he glanced back at me and tossed out a line like spare change. “Elena, Valentina works this hard for us. You should be grateful. Your card’s been unfrozen.”
The door shut. My arms gave out.
I curled into myself on the floor.
My body screamed in agony. But my heart felt nothing. Dead water.
I don’t know how long I lay there before I dragged myself up, grabbed the bank card, and stumbled out the door.
…
I pushed open my mother’s hospital room door.
She was propped up in bed. Face white. Lips blue.
On the TV screen facing her — a video. Me. Kneeling. Slapping myself. Again and again.
The footage cut to the master bedroom of our house. Dante and Valentina. On our bed.
Audio played on speaker, every word crystal clear: “Old hag — your daughter gets on her knees for me like a dog every single day just to keep you alive. You’re nothing but a burden. A waste of air.”
My whole body started shaking.
My mother clutched her chest and collapsed sideways.
The heart monitor flatlined into a long, continuous scream.
I threw myself at the call button, pressing it over and over like a madwoman.
Doctors rushed in. “Get her to the OR. NOW!!!”
The gurney flew down the corridor. As it passed me, my mother grabbed my hand. Her voice came in broken fragments, barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry… sweetie…”
I couldn’t breathe. Tears blurred everything.
The doctor blocked my path. “Ms. Toscani — go pay now. She needs surgery immediately.”
I braced myself against the wall, fighting the blackness at the edges of my vision, one hand pressed against the incision on my abdomen. I slid my bank card through the payment window.
Beep.
Payment failed.
The clerk frowned and handed it back. “Ma’am, insufficient funds.”
I stood there. My mind went blank.
Then my phone buzzed.
[Your account has been charged $500,000. Remaining balance: $0.]
A text from Dante came right after.
[Valentina found a handbag she likes. Happens to be $500,000. Consider it your compensation.]
I called him back immediately. “Dante — Mom is in emergency surgery — that was her surgery money —”
“How many times are you going to use that line?” Dante cut me off. “Valentina already checked with the medical team. Your mother is perfectly fine — she was out in the hospital garden this morning, sunbathing by herself.”
He sighed like he was scolding a child throwing a tantrum. “Stop making a scene. Valentina’s dog is sick and she’s upset. I need to be there for her.”
He hung up. I called again.
The number was blocked.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I couldn’t tell whether it was the ringtone, or the sound from the instrument beside my mother.
“Ms. Toscani, the payment notification never came through. The donor heart has been claimed by another patient. I’m very sorry — your mother has just been declared brain dead.”
I stood in the corridor.
The world tilted and spun.
Nurses walked past, gossiping in low voices.
“Did you hear? The VIP suite upstairs has a dog in it. Something about a bad heart — and they gave it the donor organ some old lady had been waiting years for. Transplant rejected within minutes.”
“Obviously. How can a dog’s body accept a human heart? Poor lady. She was five minutes away from being saved.”
“Shh. That’s the Donna of Moretti family. He treats that woman like a princess. We can’t afford to piss them off.”
I stood there a moment longer.
Then I turned and walked upstairs.
Dante had his arm around Valentina. They were playing with a perfectly healthy little white dog.
He saw me and blinked. “Good timing. Creamy has some digestive issues. You’ve got experience with that sort of thing — you can be her caretaker from now on.”
My breathing stopped. “…Digestive issues?”
Valentina smiled — slow, knowing. “Yep. False alarm, thank God. Too bad we wasted a donor heart, though. Who knows which poor unlucky soul missed out because of my little Creamy.”
Dante shrugged. “If they couldn’t pay for surgery, they only have themselves to blame.”
I lowered my eyes.
And then I smiled.
My hand reached behind my back. Fingers closed around the grip of the pistol tucked in my waistband.
Valentina saw it first. She shrieked and scrambled backward, knocking over the IV stand.
Dante was half a second too slow. I squeezed the trigger.
BANG!
The shot grazed his arm — a shallow, burning line of red. He stared at me in shock. “Have you lost your mind? Over $500,000, you’re going to kill someone?”
I laughed. Tears pouring down my face. “I did come here to kill someone. But you two aren’t worth dirtying my hands.”
Dante froze.
He saw it in my eyes — the finality. The hatred.
Something clicked.
His pupils shrank to pinpoints. A hoarse scream ripped from his throat. “No —!”
Too late.
I flipped the barrel toward my own chest and pulled the trigger.
BANG!