My lover's revenge after my death

That night, my soul was pulled by an unseen force, inexplicably tethered to Lev.

I materialized in the corner of his penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline.

City lights poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting fractured shadows across the sterile apartment. It was a world away from the warm, chaotic, garlic-scented kitchen of the Moretti estate where we used to hide.

Katya was waiting for him on a white leather sofa. She was the niece of Sergei Tarasov, the boss of the Russian Bratva, and Lev’s new fiancée.

Katya possessed everything I lacked.

She was tall, blonde, and utterly ruthless, raised from the cradle in a blood-soaked mob family. She didn't fear violence; she reveled in it.

When Lev walked in, looking thoroughly exhausted, Katya practically pounced on him.

"Lev, darling," she purred, tracing his jawline. "You look terrible. Did that old Italian give you a headache?"

Lev poured himself a neat whiskey, ignoring her touch. "Vincenzo is stubborn. It's a genetic defect in his bloodline."

Katya rolled her eyes and walked over to the coffee table.

She picked up a velvet jewelry box and handed it to him. "I brought you a gift to celebrate taking over the South Side. A custom platinum money clip. I noticed you always keep that filthy, beat-up Zippo in your breast pocket—it ruins the lines of your suits. It's time for an upgrade."

Lev’s expression instantly darkened.

His hand instinctively shot to his chest, his fingers brushing the fabric right over his heart, feeling the hard outline of the silver lighter.

It was the only thing I had ever given him.

Five and a half years ago.

Back then, Leo was just a street soldier working for my father, and I was the untouchable Mafia princess.

We had been seeing each other in secret for months.

On his twenty-first birthday, I pooled together my allowance and bought him a solid silver Zippo.

Too terrified to let a jeweler see my name next to his, I bought a metal engraving kit and did it myself.

I stayed up all night in my bedroom, squinting under the desk lamp, meticulously carving his name into the metal,

right next to a tiny, crooked little star.

By the time I finished, my fingers were blistered and bleeding.

When I snuck into the greenhouse to hand it to him, exhausted and sporting heavy bags under my eyes, he looked at that lighter like it was the Holy Grail.

He pulled me into the shadows, cupping my face with his rough hands, and kissed the dark circles under my eyes.

"Clara, you shouldn't have worn yourself out for me," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm a nobody. You don't owe me a damn thing."

"I wanted to," I replied, resting my head against his chest. "I want you to carry a piece of me wherever you go."

Back in the penthouse, Katya tried to reach into Lev’s pocket to fish out the lighter.

Lev suddenly seized her wrist with a sudden, terrifying ferocity.

"Don't touch it," Lev warned, his voice dropping to a deadly, glacial whisper.

Katya yanked her hand back, rubbing her wrist, her bruised ego flaring. "Why do you even keep that piece of junk? It’s broken, yet you guard it like it's a holy relic."

Lev pulled the lighter from his pocket.

His thumb gently stroked the crooked lettering I had engraved.

Watching him, I realized he was trembling. The impenetrable mask of the ruthless mob boss cracked—if only by a millimeter—revealing the broken boy underneath.

"I keep it because I hate it," Lev stated, his face blank. "I keep it to remind myself of a lesson I had to learn the hard way."

"What lesson?" Katya asked.

"That love is a liability," Lev said softly. "I used to be their dog. And the only person I trusted... the woman who gave this to me... when The Commission came for my head, she called me a beggar and threw me to the wolves."

"She betrayed me. She abandoned me."

He gripped the lighter so hard his knuckles turned stark white.

"I keep it to keep the hate alive. Every time I touch it, I remember how she humiliated me. How she told me I was worth absolutely nothing."

I collapsed onto the Persian rug, clutching my stomach as if I’d been gutted.

"I had to do it, Leo."

I sobbed, knowing full well he couldn't hear me.

"If they knew I loved you, they would have tortured you to get to my father, then made him execute you himself. If I didn't break your heart, you would have stayed and died."

"I had to make you hate me so you would survive."

"Who is she?" Katya snapped, a flash of psychotic jealousy in her eyes. "Give me a name, Lev. I'll send my hitters. We’ll skin her alive."

Lev snapped the lighter shut and pressed it back over his heart.

"No. No one touches her but me. I don't want her dead. I want her to suffer. I’m going to bleed her family dry until she has no choice but to crawl out of whatever rat hole she’s hiding in."

"And when she begs me to spare their lives... I will utterly destroy her."