The Mafia Don Rejected Her… Then Learned She Was Dying Chapter 07
Alexander was out of danger.
The first thing he did after waking up was look for
- me.
Only after confirming that I was unharmed did the
tension finally leave his face.
I repeated Godfather Don’s message.
“Alex, once you’ve recovered, you should go back
home. I can handle the treatment here. Felix will
help me.”
His expression darkered instantly.
“You’re sending me away?”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
At that moment, the doctors and nurses entered
for their rounds. I stepped aside and lowered my
voice.
“Alex, I’ll come see you tomorrow.”
“Serafina…”
The pain from his injuries made it impossible for
him to control his emotions.
“If you walk out that door…”
I heard the anger beneath his words.
Even so, I turned and left the room.
Afterward, Alexander spoke with my attending
physician in detail.
For the first time, he learned exactly how severe
my condition was.
Stage IV lung cancer with brain metastases.
The odds were brutal.
The tumors in my brain posed an especially high.
risk. Even with the new treatment plan, there were
no guarantees. It was a gamble against death
itself.
Alexander couldn’t accept it.
At the same time, Tommy brought him another
piece of bad news.
The rumors surrounding Alexander and me had
exploded across the media back home again, and this time the attacks were aimed directly at me.
“Elena?” Alexander asked coldly.
Tommy nodded.
“Most likely. The original accounts trace back to IP addresses connected to the Moretti family.”
A dangerous look settled over Alexander’s face.
“They’ve got a death wish.”
His voice was ice.
“Gather every piece of evidence. Contact law
enforcement. The Foster family is pursuing this to the fullest extent possible.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Shut down every negative story immediately.
Notify our people back home. I want economic
pressure applied to the Moretti family starting
now.”
Tommy left at once to carry out the orders.
Ignoring his doctors‘ objections, Alexander signed
himself out of the hospital after taking pain
medication.
Then he came to find me.
“Serafina.”
His voice was unusually quiet.
“Have you considered… choosing palliative care
instead?”
I frowned slightly.
“Alex, I’ve already made my decision.”
I met his gaze steadily.
“I want to fight for a future.”
My answer left no room for debate.
For once, even Alexander couldn’t change my
mind.
“Serafina.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“I hope you’ll think about it again.”
With a helpless sigh, he turned and left.
The door closed behind him.
Felix, who had been waiting outside the entire
time, spoke calmly.
“Late–stage lung cancer with brain metastases.”
His tone remained clinical.
“If she stops aggressive treatment, she’ll soon face constant migraines, blurred vision, speech impairment, loss of motor control, and eventually complete memory deterioration.”
He paused.
“That will become her everyday life.”
Alexander stood motionless.
His fists clenched at his sides.
His knuckles turned white.
Without saying a word, he walked away.
The days that followed became increasingly
difficult.
My memory was getting worse.
Sometimes I couldn’t remember whether I’d taken
my medication.
Occasionally, familiar places felt completely
foreign.
I contacted Professor Strucker.
Before the next major treatment, he recommended
temporarily discontinuing some of the
medications affecting my neurological function so
he could evaluate my true condition more
accurately.
The downside was immediate.
Without those medications, my illness progressed
faster.
It felt as though the floodgates holding back my
memories were breaking apart.
The signs became impossible to ignore.
One afternoon, Alexander and I were shopping for
groceries.
I suddenly stopped in the middle of an aisle.
I stared at the shelves.
I couldn’t remember what I had come there to buy.
The night before treatment, sleep refused to
come.
Alexander stayed with me.
We shared a few drinks.
By the time I stood to return to my room, a
pleasant buzz lingered in my head.
“Serafina.”
His voice stopped me.
I turned around.
Alexander was looking at me.
There was alcohol in his eyes.
But there was something else too.
Pain.
Regret.
A struggle he could no longer hide.
Quietly, he asked,
“Serafina… do you still love me?”
