Chapter 151 Writing My Will

Chapter 151 Writing My Will
Emma's POV:

"You all stood around the room while I was being checked repeatedly; thinking that if I didn't wake up this time, I probably never would."

I watched their shocked expressions with a calm detachment.

Alexander turned to Bill, his voice authoritative despite the strain evident in his eyes. "Do as Emma says. Give Neil time off and have him accompany us on the private jet to Italy."

Bill nodded promptly. Being a major shareholder of the hospital gave Alexander the authority to grant a doctor leave.

When everyone had filed out of the suite, leaving just Alexander and me, his carefully maintained composure crumbled. He pulled me into his arms with such force that it nearly knocked the breath from my lungs.

"Emma," his voice broke, trembling against my hair. "I'll find the best doctors in the world for you. The best treatments, the most effective drugs."

I felt his chest rise and fall rapidly as he tried to steady his breathing, to regain control of his emotions.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he whispered fiercely.

I tilted my head back to look at him, a small smile playing at my lips that seemed to catch him off guard.

"When Joseph explained my condition, I didn't feel an ounce of fear," I said quietly. "Not one."

Alexander's brows furrowed, not understanding my calmness in the face of such news.

"People like me," I continued, "from the moment I chose this path, I've considered myself already dead. Every day I've lived since then has been a bonus."

"Don't talk nonsense!" Alexander cut me off harshly. "You're going to be fine. Nothing's going to happen to you!"

I led him to the balcony of our hotel suite, pouring us both glasses of whiskey from the decanter on the side table. When Alexander saw me reaching for my glass, he quickly intercepted.

"You can't drink alcohol now," he said firmly, concern etching deeper lines around his eyes.

I looked directly at him, my question piercing through his defenses. "Alexander, what if the tumor is malignant? Would you prefer me to die happy, or live in misery?"

I watched as conflict played across his features, unable to immediately respond.

"You know I love freedom," I said softly. "I love living life to its fullest."

I took back my glass from his hand. "Making me go through chemo and radiation, only to die in agony anyway? I'd rather live joyfully for whatever time I have left."

I raised the glass to my lips with a smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.

Alexander's gaze was filled with pain as he watched me. "Emma, please don't sentence yourself to death, okay?"

I swirled the amber liquid in my glass, memories flooding back of all I'd accomplished and endured.

"Alexander, since the day I established Phoenix, I've considered every possible consequence," I said reflectively. "To you, I'm Emma North. To others, I'm just that cold-blooded mafia donna."

I took another sip. "It's always been simple—they want me dead, but they can't beat me. That's all."

The liquid burned pleasantly down my throat. "I used to say that someone like me, even if I went to hell after death, the devil himself would have to come teach me a lesson."

I met his gaze steadily. "So when I got sick, it felt... appropriate. Like my comeuppance."

---

Days later. I stood on the balcony of our Sicilian villa, quietly sipping from a glass of whiskey as I recalled Alexander's words from that day in New York.

"Emma, this isn't retribution. It's just a trial we have to face."

His voice had been firm, unyielding. "And we'll face it together. You are not allowed to give up!"

The intensity in his eyes had been searing. "If something happens to you, even if it means going to hell, I'll be right beside you!"

Alexander had brought me from New York to Italy immediately after. Joseph's complete examination confirmed what we'd feared: the tumor in my head was malignant.

Alexander had assembled a team of world-renowned neurosurgeons to consult with Joseph and Neil about the surgical approach.

This morning, I'd woken to find Alexander gone from the villa. My calls to both him and Bill went straight to voicemail. Concerned, I sought out Isabella.

"Isabella, where's Alexander?" I asked, finding her arranging breakfast in the dining room.

"Donna, Mr. Sterling received an urgent call early this morning and flew back to New York," she explained, carefully placing a fruit platter on the table. "He should be on the plane now."

I processed this information quietly. "Back to New York?"

Isabella nodded. "He asked me to tell you he left a message in your phone's notes app."

"Alright," I replied evenly. "My phone's upstairs. I'll check after breakfast."

I understood Alexander wouldn't leave me at such a critical time unless something extremely important demanded his attention.

I had barely started eating when Joseph burst into the villa, his expression animated.

"Emma, we've finalized the surgery plan!" he exclaimed, breathless from rushing.

I continued eating calmly. "What plan has you so excited?"

Joseph explained eagerly. "Though the tumor is malignant, it's just beginning to change and shows no signs of spreading. If we surgically remove it now and follow with targeted drug therapy, there's a high probability of a complete cure. No chemo or radiation since you don't want those."

Joseph looked exhausted but hopeful, red veins threading through the whites of his eyes.

"And the risks?" I asked directly.

Joseph's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. "The tumor's location is tricky. Any mistake during surgery could cause..." he hesitated.

"Temporary or permanent memory loss or blindness," he finished quietly.

I focused on the critical question. "Memory loss or blindness? Would I be disabled?"

Joseph shook his head. "Your motor functions wouldn't be affected."

"That's good then. Being blind is better than being paralyzed," I remarked, continuing with my breakfast.

Isabella asked about the timing.

"As soon as possible," Joseph replied. "We need two days to prepare. We could do it in two days at the earliest."

I looked up from my plate. "What are my chances of not surviving the surgery?"

"Twenty percent," Joseph answered honestly, giving me time to process this reality.

I calculated silently. "Two days from now... So there's a twenty percent chance I'll never see Alexander again."

I set down my utensils and stood, walking toward the stairs.

"Donna, you haven't finished your breakfast," Isabella called after me, noting I'd only eaten a boiled egg and half a bowl of oatmeal.

"I'm done. I'm full," I replied without turning, waving my hand dismissively as I continued up the stairs. "Schedule the surgery for two days from now. Go make the preparations."

I ascended each step deliberately, maintaining my composure.

"Donna, what are you doing?" Isabella called when she noticed I was heading to the study rather than the bedroom.

I paused, turned, and looked down at Isabella and Joseph from the landing. A bright smile suddenly illuminated my face.

"Writing my will, of course!" I replied cheerfully.