Giovanni's heart hammered in his chest as he cradled Alessia's limp body, her fragile form lifeless in his arms. Her skin was cold, and the shallow rise and fall of her chest did little to reassure him. The pills she'd ingested were a deadly cocktail, and her body had quickly succumbed to the poison.

"Alessia..." Giovanni whispered her name, his voice cracking with despair. He shook her gently, but she didn't respond. His mind raced in panic, but his body seemed to be moving in slow motion. He needed help. He needed to act.

Without a second thought, Giovanni scooped her up in his arms, carrying her through the apartment in a blind rush to save her. His thoughts were muddled, his emotions a tempest of guilt and helplessness. This is my fault, he thought over and over again, but there was no time for self-blame now. He had to get her to the hospital.

The car ride felt like an eternity. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel as he drove through the streets at breakneck speed, ignoring every traffic law, desperate to get to her before it was too late. The flashing lights of the hospital came into view, and Giovanni's hope flickered—there was still time.