Fake Sickness, Real Consequences

"In the tenth year of being the secret lover of Luca, a Mafia Don, I died.When the bullet tore through my chest, I used the last of my strength to dial his number.“Luca, I’ve been shot… Please, save me…”On the other end, he let out a careless, mocking snort. “Eva, is this another one of your tragic‑act routines? Helena’s waiting for me to have breakfast with her. I’m tired of this game. Stop bothering me.”Then, the call cut off without mercy, and so I closed my eyes in despair.When I opened them again, I had gone back seven days before the shooting. This time, with trembling fingers, I dialed a number I hadn’t dared to touch in three years.“Marcus, three years ago, you said you’d marry me. Do you still stand by it?”The voice on the other end exploded. “Eva! You finally called me! I’m in Sicily, clearing out an enemy faction. I can’t get back right now.“Give me seven days. I swear I’ll come back to you in a blaze of glory!”"