Reborn Heiress: Pampered By The Ruthless Don
The man smiling in the silver frame on my vanity was the very same man who, in exactly three months, would wrap his hands around my throat.
I knew this because I had already died.
I had felt the freezing, silty water of the Hudson River fill my lungs while Alexander watched the life drain from my eyes, his mistress laughing in the background.
I had hovered like a ghost above my own funeral, watching the betrayal continue even after my death.
My mother, the perfect Mafia widow, stood stoically next to my killer, unaware she had sold her daughter to a butcher. My fiancé checked his watch, bored, waiting to liquidate my inheritance.
But then I saw him.
Darrian Golden. The Don of the rival clan. The enemy.
He stood in the pouring rain, his expensive suit soaked through, staring at my coffin as if the world had ended. When the earth hit the wood, he didn't just cry; he roared in primal agony. My fiancé killed me, but my enemy was the only one who mourned me.
"The Commission is waiting," my mother’s voice snapped the timeline back into place.
She stood in my doorway, demanding I set the engagement date to secure the territory. She saw a charming Capo; I saw the rat who had cut my father's brake lines.
In my first life, I was a trembling bird. In this life, I was the match that would burn the cage down.
I smashed the photo frame against the marble table, the sound cracking through the room like a gunshot.
"Contact the Golden Clan," I commanded.
My mother went pale. "He is a savage, Azalea. He butchers men for sport."
"Tell Don Golden that Azalea Kidd is offering a parley," I said, looking out the window at the city that would soon be ours.
"Tell him I am offering the only thing he has ever wanted: Me."
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Chapter 7
I bided my time for three days.
Three days of pretending to swallow the pills they pressed into my palm.
Three days of offering weak, trembling smiles to the nurses on Alexander's payroll.
I needed them to think I was broken. I needed them to believe the horse had kicked the fight out of me.
It was 2:00 AM.
The hospital was tomblike.
The low hum of the ventilation system was the only sound tethering me to reality.
I sat up.
My leg was a dead weight, but the pain had become a dull background noise. White noise. I could ignore it. I had to.
I grabbed the crutches leaning against the wall and hoisted myself up.
I moved to the window.
We were on the second floor. There was a fire escape just outside the ledge.
I opened the window.
The night air hit me. It smelled of exhaust and rain. It tasted like freedom.
I climbed out.
Every movement was a battle. Dragging the plaster cast over the sill was agony, sending spikes of fire up my thigh.
I gasped, cold sweat popping out on my forehead.
I lowered myself onto the metal grate of the fire escape.
*Clang.*
The sound reverberated like a gunshot in the silence of the alley.
I froze. I waited.
Nothing.
I began the descent.
One step. Two steps.
I had to hook the crutches over my arm and hop down on my good leg, holding the railing with a death grip. My palms were slick against the rusted iron.
My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I reached the bottom.
I dropped the last few feet to the pavement. My good leg buckled, but I caught myself against the rough brick wall.
I had done it. I made it.
I turned toward the street.
A shadow detached itself from the wall.
Then another.
Alaric and Darrius.
They were smoking cigarettes, leaning against a dumpster as if they had been waiting for a bus rather than a runaway hostage.
"Going somewhere, Princess?" Alaric asked.
He dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his boot with a slow, deliberate twist.
"Alexander said you might try the window," Darrius said, shaking his head mockingly. "Predictable."
I backed away.
"Let me pass," I said, my voice tighter than I intended.
"Can't do that," Alaric said, stepping forward. "Boss wants you in bed. He says you need your rest."
They were closing in. Like wolves circling a wounded deer.
I looked at the street.
It was a main avenue. Traffic was thinning, but cars were still speeding by. Taxis. Delivery trucks.
I looked back at Alaric.
He was reaching for me.
If they took me back, I would never leave that room again.
I would be drugged until the fog consumed me, until I couldn't remember my own name.
I made a choice.
I didn't scream. I didn't fight.
I turned and ran.
I hobbled as fast as the crutches would carry me, straight toward the road.
"Hey!" Alaric shouted.
I didn't stop.
I saw the headlights. Twin beams of light cutting through the darkness like searchlights.
A delivery truck.
It was moving fast.
I didn't hesitate. I threw myself directly into the light.
The screech of brakes was ear-splitting.
The horn blared.
I felt the impact. Not the truck itself, but the bumper clipping my side as the driver swerved.
The force sent me flying.
The world spun. Asphalt. Sky. Asphalt.
I hit the ground hard. My head cracked against the pavement with a sickening thud.
Pain exploded, black and absolute.
I lay there, staring at the blurry streetlights swimming above me.
I heard running footsteps. I heard Alaric cursing.
"She's crazy," Darrius was yelling, panic edging his voice. "She's actually crazy."
"Call the ambulance," Alaric hissed. "Tell them she wandered out. Tell them she was confused."
I closed my eyes.
I let the darkness take me.
It was better than their hands.
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