Chapter 105 Fragile Hope!

• Night came for him the same way it always did—slow, merciless, and heavy with her absence.
• Eight and a half months had passed since the bullet tore through Elena and ripped the color out of his world. The doctors called it a coma, a word too clean for what it really was. To Vincenzo, it was a suspended death. A punishment. A waiting room where time mocked him by moving forward while she remained still.
• By day, he had turned into something colder than before. The city whispered about it. The men under him feared it. Vincenzo spoke only when necessary, each word clipped, surgical, as if language itself was a weakness he could no longer afford. His eyes no longer burned with fire—they were glaciers now. Unfeeling. Untouchable. Anyone who mistook that silence for mercy never made the mistake twice.