Black Rose in the Abyss Chapter 4

Bianca turned to leave, unwilling to watch the piercing scene any longer.

She was afraid that if she stayed one second longer, her forced composure would shatter.

Dante struggled to reach out toward Bianca, trying to grab the hem of her clothes.

"Bianca..."

Before he could finish her name, he completely lost consciousness.

"Dante!" Mia's cry came from behind. "What do I do? He's bleeding so much, I can't lift him..."

Bianca closed her eyes, her manicured nails digging into her palms. She finally stopped walking. Without looking back, she dialed a number:

"Queens Pier. I need an ambulance."

"Immediately."

In the Presbyterian Hospital, the smell of disinfectant was pungent.

After paying the bill, she watched through the glass window as Mia used a wet towel to gently wipe the dried blood from Dante's face. She watched him wake up and immediately wipe away Mia's tears.

But when he glimpsed Bianca outside the door, his movements froze.

Bianca pushed the door open. She didn't look at Mia, nor did she ask about his injuries. She simply placed the receipt on the bedside table.

"It's all paid for."

Seeing she was about to leave, Dante struggled to sit up. "Bianca! Where are you going? Listen to me..."

"Don't move! Do you want the wound to heal or not?!" the doctor scolded.

"No need. The Boss has Miss Mia to take care of him. Rest well." She turned sideways to avoid his touch, the sound of her high heels fading into the empty corridor.

The evening breeze carried a chill, blowing her loose long hair.

Unknowingly, she found herself standing at the intersection of that old neighborhood in Brooklyn.

Mrs. Baker from the deli saw her and popped her head out enthusiastically. "Bianca! Alone today? Where's Dante? The usual, two Reuben sandwiches?"

She suddenly realized—

Today was October 15th.

Sixteen years ago today, she met Dante in this neighborhood.

Every year since then, on this day, they would come here to eat a sandwich and walk along the long street, like ordinary lovers.

Dante had occupied two-thirds of her twenty-four years of life.

And on this day, it was time to put a period on it.

Suppressing the lump in her throat, she smiled at Mrs. Baker. "Just one is fine."

The sandwich had just been served, steam still rising, when a figure appeared at the shop door.

It was Mia.

"Miss Bianca is here too." She was holding a premium takeout bag from a Michelin-starred restaurant. The exquisite packaging looked out of place in this old deli.

"Dante said the hospital food is bad, so I went specifically to buy lobster bisque."

Bianca tapped her finger lightly on the table, not looking up.

Mia walked a few steps closer, her gaze falling on the sandwich. "Dante brought me to eat a sandwich from this place once. He said it was good, but after I thought it was greasy and unsanitary, he never ate it again."

"He also said that after eating too much of something, you want to change the flavor."

"That French restaurant's lobster bisque is indeed good," Bianca looked up, a cold sneer on her lips. "But he's allergic to seafood. The doctor ordered him to avoid it."

"Since Miss Mia wants to take care of him, you should pay attention to these details."

The smile on Mia's face froze slightly.

Bianca put down the food in her hand. "Just like this sandwich. Having eaten it for over ten years, it's not something fresh and exciting can replace."

"Lobster bisque should be eaten while hot. Miss Mia, you should go back quickly. But I suggest you buy something else on the way, after all..." She smiled faintly. "It would be best if you actually let him survive."

Mia choked on her words, her eyes turning red. She gripped the takeout bag tightly and finally turned around and ran off in a huff.

Bianca looked down at the cold sandwich, losing all appetite.

She tucked a few bills under the plate and stood up to leave.

Outside, the night had deepened.

It wasn't far from her penthouse near Central Park. Separated by a few blocks, it was a microcosm of New York's wealth gap. On one side, glass curtain walls of skyscrapers; on the other, mottled walls of red brick buildings.

She had insisted on buying the penthouse because, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, she could see this place where they started—like an anchor, grounding her so she wouldn't dare forget where she came from.

The alley was quiet, only the echo of her heels clicking on the ground.

A withered leaf from a plane tree brushed her shoulder and fell silently to the ground.

She remembered years ago, on a night just like this, she and Dante had just taken over a territory. They were covered in wounds but incredibly excited. Under this very tree, he carried her on his back, walking step by step.

She had said, "Dante, in the future, we’re going to live in a house with big floor-to-ceiling windows."

He was panting, but his laugh was bright. "Done! I'll buy it for you! One where you can see all of New York!"

Things had changed; people had changed.

As her thoughts drifted, the frightened whimpering of a woman and the lewd laughter of men came from a side alley.

"Help... let me go..."