Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return
I was the wife of Damien Valenti, the most ruthless mafia Don in Chicago.
But to cement his power and marry a rival family's daughter, he exiled me to the slums without a single dime.
"Stay not as my wife, Izzy, but as my whore."
That was his final ultimatum before dumping me out of his black SUV like trash.
Terrified of losing me, my five-year-old son, Angelo, secretly hid in the car to follow me.
Two days later, in a squalid Indiana motel, Angelo caught severe pneumonia.
I had no money and no doctor. In sheer desperation, I sliced my own wrist with broken glass, pressing my bleeding arm to his pale lips, begging him to drink and live.
But my little boy died in my arms.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Damien was sipping vintage champagne with his new bride, casually dismissing the life of his own flesh and blood.
The grief turned me into a monster. I spent twenty years clawing my way through the underworld to destroy his empire, only to die with a bullet in my chest.
I gave him my absolute devotion, yet he traded our family for political power without a single ounce of hesitation.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in that hellish neon-lit motel room.
Angelo was burning with fever and fighting for air, but he was still breathing.
This time, I wasn't the naive girl who loved Damien Valenti. I was a woman holding two decades of their darkest secrets, and my vendetta had just begun.
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Chapter 4
Isabella's perspective
Maria carefully took Angelo's meager few pieces of clothing, her hands still trembling, and wiped the mine dust from my son's pale little face.
Before we could even approach the waiting convoy, a sharp, sarcastic voice pierced the oppressive silence.
"What a tragedy, Miss Isabella."
I turned around and saw my aunt's personal maid, Carla, standing beside the armored vehicle. She was wearing a brand-new, crisp wool coat, and her gaze swept over my mud-covered clothes, causing her to wrinkle her nose in disgust. She was Old Lady Moretti's mouthpiece, sent here to make me clearly aware of just how badly I had fallen.
"The general surrendered the Port of Chicago for you," Kara continued with feigned pity. "What a heavy price to pay for a wife who was abandoned. We've prepared seats for you and the young master in the cars in the middle of the convoy. That... is more in line with your current status."
She curled her lips into a cruel and triumphant smile, waiting to see me lower my head in shame.
I didn't blink, nor did I argue. I simply gripped Angelo's small hand and walked straight past her, my boots crunching on the gravel. I bypassed the ordinary sedan and headed directly for the lead bulletproof Cadillac-the vehicle reserved exclusively for those of the highest bloodlines.
Maria, who was always loyal, immediately ran forward and opened the heavy car door for me.
I settled into the luxurious leather seat, pulled Angelo into my arms, and rolled down the tinted window halfway. Kara stood frozen in the dust, her smug expression now replaced by utter resentment.
"Let's go," I said to her, my voice devoid of any warmth. "Don't fall behind."
Kara's face flushed red. "His Excellency Lorenzo Falcone has officially dissolved your marriage! You have no power now!" she retorted sharply, eager to regain control.
I let out a soft, sinister laugh. The empty words written by those self-proclaimed gods were meaningless to a woman who had already witnessed the end of the world. I rolled up the car window, completely shutting out her pathetic existence.
The journey back to Chicago was a blurry silhouette of a gray highway. When the magnificent iron gates of Moretti Estate finally came into view, a heavy gloom settled over me.
The convoy came to a sudden stop.
Through the windshield, I saw a sleek black sedan blocking the entrance. I recognized the man leaning against the hood immediately. Leo. Damian Valenti's most trusted soldier.
The blood in my veins instantly turned cold. In my previous life, Damian's men didn't come to take Angelo today, because by this time, my son would already be a cold corpse.
I pushed open the door and got out of the car, immediately shielding Angelo behind my legs for protection.
Leo straightened up and gave me a polite but stiff nod. "Miss Moretti. I've come on Godfather Valenti's orders. I've come to take young Master Angelo home."
"Go home?" The word was forced out of my throat, filled with venomous hatred. "Damian is a beast who would trade even his own flesh and blood like casino chips. He abandoned us to the wolves, and now he wants his heir back?"
Leo frowned and stepped forward. "This is for Angelo's future, miss. Lord Valenti and Miss Richie-"
"Don't mention her name in front of me." I interrupted coldly, my voice extremely calm yet carrying a chilling pressure. I stared directly into Leo's eyes, at his blind loyalty that would ultimately destroy him. "Go tell Damian that if he dares to lay a finger on my son, I will expose the Valenti family's most shameful and sordid secrets to the entire Chicago Mafia."
Leo froze, his hand instinctively reaching for the holster inside his suit jacket. "Miss Isabella, be rational. Serafina just wants-"
"I know exactly what Serafina wants," I interrupted him again, taking a step closer until I could see his pupils dilate slightly. I lowered my voice and dropped a truth he couldn't comprehend at the moment. "Soon, she will need a loyal man to handle some extremely dark and bloody troubles for her. When that day comes, Leo, you will find that the price of serving her far exceeds your capacity to bear it."
Leo froze. The chillingly certain look in my eyes struck a nerve deep within him, a nerve he himself was unaware of. Without a direct order from the Godfather to wage war on Moretti family territory, he dared not make a move.
He slowly backed away, his eyes fixed on me, before getting into the car.
I watched the Valenti family's car reverse and speed away before turning around. I held Angelo's hand tightly and stepped through the massive iron gates of my grandfather's estate. I had won the standoff at the gates, but the real battle had just begun; I had to arm myself first.
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7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
8.5
went to sleep a nobody. I woke up a Queen.
One night I was just a broke, exhausted college girl. The next, I opened my eyes in silk sheets, with strangers bowing and calling me Luna Queen. The face in the mirror is mine. The body is mine. But the life isn't. The bruises on my wrists tell a story I don't remember, and the King I'm bound to doesn't love me-he loathes me.
They whisper that his mistress rules the palace. They say the Queen was weak. Silent. Broken. But that was before me.
Now I must survive a palace that wants me dead, a King whose touch burns as much as it scars, and a kingdom waiting for me to fail. The old Luna Queen bowed to cruelty.
I am not her.
And if this King thinks I'll kneel, he's about to learn what a true Queen is made of.
8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
7.3
A mafia billionaire single dad romance.
I just discovered the don's darkest secret. Wait 'til he finds out mine...
The Bratva don and I made a deal:
Spare my father. Take me instead.
But Dmitry Tsezar wasn't satisfied with my body.
He wanted everything else, too.
My obedience. My submission.
My heart. My soul.
And when that still wasn't enough, he came to take my life.
But then I found something.
Something twisted. Something wrong.
Something hidden in a locked room of his mansion, in a wing he warned me never, ever to wander near.
When I opened the door and discovered Dmitry's secret...
Everything changed forever.
9.1
I drowned in freezing pool water, the mocking laughter of the elite Savage family echoing in my ears.
When I opened my eyes, I was an eight-year-old orphan again, right on the day those monsters came to adopt me.
Terrified of repeating my hellish past, I ran down the hallway and desperately grabbed the shirt of a random, dumpy IT guy, begging him to take me instead.
I thought I had chosen a weak, boring suburban dad to hide behind.
But I was completely wrong.
My new mom greeted me with a ceramic tactical knife hidden in her apron.
My clumsy dad sliced dinner ribs with the terrifying precision of a seasoned hitman.
My ten-year-old brother was a dead-eyed sociopath who immediately calculated my bone density.
They were a family of lethal underworld monsters, yet they frantically pretended to be a normal, pathetic household just for me.