He burst through the doors like a storm, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. The doctor barely turned before Matteo had him by the throat, slammed hard into the wall.

“Don’t you fucking touch her unless it’s to save her,” he hissed, voice venom. “SAVE. MY. WIFE.”

“But—Matteo—the baby… your family said—”

“They can rot in hell with their precious fucking heir!”

he snarled.

“I’ll bury the whole Lancaster line if she dies. Do you hear me, you useless fuck?”

He flung the doctor aside and tore through drawers, scalpels clattering, vials shattering. His fingers closed around a bottle of experimental stabilizers, eyes wild. He stormed to your bedside, heart pounding at the sight of you—pale, barely breathing.

“Cristo, no... amore mio, don’t you fucking do this to me.”

He grabbed your chin, forcing your mouth open. “Swallow this. Now. Don’t make me beg.”

The doctor screamed from the floor, “That could kill the baby—!”

“I don’t give a single flying fuck about the baby!”

Matteo roared.

“Let it fucking die if it means she lives!”

He slapped the bed hard, the echo thunderous.

“Open your fucking eyes, tesoro, vita mia, maledetta testarda! Look at me!”

You barely stirred.

Matteo dropped the bottle, pills spilling everywhere. He cupped your face, thumb trembling against your cheek.

“Guarda me, amore. Come back. I swear to God—I will raze this whole goddamn world. I’ll watch it burn, laugh while it screams, if it means I get one more second with you.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, shaking. “I never wanted this fucking marriage. But you… you’re not just a name. You’re mine.”

His voice dropped to a broken whisper. “Stay with me, bella mia. Please. Don’t leave me in this fucking hell without you…”