Martina Fontana had never been the type to complain about feeling unwell. She had endured bullet wounds, knife gashes, and broken ribs without so much as a wince. Pain was a familiar companion, one she had long since learned to ignore.
But this?
This was different.
It started subtly at first. A wave of nausea in the morning, a slight fatigue that she brushed off as exhaustion from the late nights spent strategizing with Elias. But as the days passed, the symptoms only worsened.
She woke up every morning feeling like her stomach had turned inside out. The mere thought of food made her gag. Even the smell of Elias’s coffee—something she had once loved—made her stomach churn.
And the exhaustion? It was bone-deep. No amount of sleep seemed to make it go away.
Martina sat at the dining ta
