Reborn: The Mafia Bride's Fiery Revenge
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.
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Chapter 5
Isabella POV
The hissing of the old radiator was the only sound in the cramped living room, a sharp contrast to the deafening silence that had fallen over my parents. My father, Arturo, stared at the peeling wallpaper, the muscle in his jaw ticking rhythmically as the dark, simmering rage fully took hold of him.
I didn't let the silence linger. If I wanted to ensure they never looked back at the Hobbs family with an ounce of regret, I had to twist the knife.
"Think about Aunt Bette's face today, Mom," I said softly, keeping my gaze locked on my mother's tear-filled eyes. "She stood in that opulent parlor and painted a severe drug addict as a prince. She knew exactly what Elzada Velasquez's son was. She knew they needed a disposable girl from the slums to act as *Collateral* to cover up his filthy scandals. She was practically gift-wrapping me for a slaughterhouse just to earn a political favor for her own son."
Annabel let out a broken, suffocated gasp. The last fragile thread of her blind loyalty to her bloodline snapped. For years, she had endured Hertha’s bloodline humiliation and Bette’s venomous sneers, believing that her subservience would eventually earn us a sliver of protection. Realizing that her own family viewed her daughter as nothing more than garbage to be traded broke her completely. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with quiet, agonizing sobs.
Arturo moved then. He crossed the small space and pulled my mother into his chest, his arms wrapping around her trembling frame. When he looked up at me, the subservient posture of a lowly Associate was gone. In his eyes, I saw the fierce, unyielding resolve of a father.
"I may just be an Associate," Arturo said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "But I am the one who balances their dirty ledgers. I know how to hide money, and I know how to survive. We don't need Dolphus Hobbs' table scraps to live." He tightened his grip on my mother. "From this moment on, we are done with them. I will not let that toxic *Family Bond* drag my daughters into an early grave."
Annabel wiped her face, her makeup smudged but her expression hardening into something I had never seen before—courage. She reached out and took my hand, her grip surprisingly strong.
"You are not going to the Velasquez estate, Isabella," she vowed, her voice trembling but absolute. "Even if it means we have to face the Romero family's Selection Gala. I would rather risk the unknown than hand you over to monsters we already know."
A heavy weight lifted off my chest. The hardest battle—saving my parents from their own naive loyalty—was won.
"Thank you," I whispered, squeezing her hand before stepping back. "I'm going to get some rest."
I turned and walked out of the living room, leaving them to find comfort in each other. The hallway was dim and freezing, the draft from the poorly insulated windows biting at my ankles.
"Bella?"
I stopped. Standing by the doorframe of our shared bedroom was Abby. My six-year-old sister was clutching her worn stuffed bear, her large, dark eyes wide with a maturity that no child in the mafia world should possess. She had heard everything.
I knelt on the cold floor, bringing myself to her eye level. "Hey, bug. Why aren't you in bed?"
Abby stepped forward and grabbed my hands. Her tiny fingers were still cold from the blizzard, but her grip was fierce. "I'm going to learn how to shoot," she whispered, her voice deadly serious. "I'm going to grow up fast, and I'm going to learn all the rules. I'll be a shield for you and Mommy and Daddy. I won't let the bad people sell you."
My breath hitched. The sheer innocence and fierce protectiveness in her vow struck a chord so deep inside me it physically ached.
I forced a gentle, reassuring smile, reaching up to smooth her messy hair. "You don't have to be a shield, Abby. That's my job."
I pulled her into a hug, resting my chin on her small shoulder. As I closed my eyes, the freezing hallway faded. The phantom stench of gasoline and mold filled my nostrils. I felt the blistering, agonizing heat of the underground cell at the Velasquez estate. I heard the roaring flames that had consumed my flesh, and the cruel laughter of Kiana Velasquez echoing from the floor above.
*I died once.*
The realization was a cold, hard stone in my chest. I had burned to ash in that gilded cage, weeping for a mother who had already died of a broken heart, leaving Abby completely alone in a world of wolves.
I opened my eyes, staring into the dark shadows of the hallway. The gentle sister Abby was hugging was a ghost. In her place was a woman forged in hellfire.
Let the Romero Selection Gala come. Let the high-born daughters and the ruthless Capos gather. I would walk into the heart of the Romero estate, and I would carve a bloody path through anyone who dared to threaten my family again.
*Vendetta.* It was the only law I recognized now.
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7.2
Betrayed by her sister. Killed by her husband.
Reborn, Sarah returns with one goal-revenge.
This time, she won't be the fool.
And with the Knox, the most dangerous man by her side...
she'll ruin them all, and take back everything that belongs to her.
Promotional line: They killed me once. This time, I'll destroy them first.
7.9
June was an ordinary architect struggling to pay rent, completely estranged from her high-society mother.
But one night, she was kidnapped and beaten in an abandoned warehouse by Gage Becker, the city's most ruthless billionaire, who demanded payback for her mother's sins.
Gage pointed a high-definition camera at June's battered face and video-called her mother, threatening to release the footage and ruin her upcoming billion-dollar wedding.
"I will never throw away a billion-dollar marriage for a useless daughter."
Her mother's cold voice echoed through the warehouse before the line went dead.
From that moment, Gage systematically destroyed June's life. She was publicly humiliated and forced to hack off her own hair with a cigar cutter. She was blacklisted from every firm in the city, evicted by her landlord, and violently mugged in a freezing New York blizzard.
Curled up in an icy tunnel waiting to die, June felt a suffocating despair. She hadn't spoken to her mother in months. Why did she have to endure this hell for a woman who didn't even care if she lived or died? Why was a monster like Gage so obsessed with driving her to the grave?
When Gage's armored Maybach pulled up, he stepped into the snow to mock her, waiting for her to finally surrender and beg for his mercy.
But the absolute humiliation snapped the last thread of June's sanity.
Instead of crying, she lunged forward with feral energy and sank her teeth directly into the devil's flesh.
9.4
My retirement was finally approved, and I was supposed to be sipping drinks on a sunny beach.
Instead, a cold system voice forced me into a nightmare scenario: "Cursed Mates Who Want Me Dead." I woke up in a stinking cave, trapped in the body of a psychopathic tribal princess.
The memories that flooded my brain made me sick. The original owner of this body had forcibly marked seven of the continent's most powerful beast-men and reduced them to tortured pets. She had ripped the shimmering scales off Jordi the Merfolk prince, gouged out a proud wolf-man's power crystal, and snapped an eagle-man's magnificent wings.
Now, Jordi was a mutilated, terrified mess hiding in a corner. He was so traumatized that he tried to slit his own throat just to escape me. His sister was actively trying to assassinate me.
To make matters worse, the system warned me that if I didn't heal these seven ticking time bombs, my soul would be erased. Yet the future timeline clearly showed that these men would eventually unite, burn my tribe to the ground, and dismember me alive.
I was paying for a monster's sins. Every time I tried to show mercy, they thought it was a sick new torture method. Words were useless, and my very presence was a trigger.
But I am a Tier-S operative, and I don't play the victim. I forced the system to unlock my powers and strapped on my tactical gear.
"Stay here and don't starve."
I left the trembling Merfolk behind and walked into the deadly primitive forest, heading straight for the powerful Oasis Tribe to take back his stolen scales by force.
9.6
My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend.
From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down."
That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny.
But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded.
I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said."
Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off."
My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers.
I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal.
Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing.
As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury.
In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho."
How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me?
Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault?
Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred?
I would not be his victim.
Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done.
I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties.
This was not an escape; this was my rebirth.
Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.
9.4
I was a New York photographer, but I woke up under the brutal sun of the African savanna.
Worse, I wasn't human. I was trapped in the body of a male cheetah, with two starving cubs clinging to my fur, telepathically calling me "Mom."
But I am a real man!
To keep my adopted sons alive, I had to fight hyenas and dodge rogue lions. But the real nightmare was my bizarre survival mechanism. Under extreme threat, I would uncontrollably shift back into my human form—stark, undeniably naked. I was forced to sprint across the plains with my bare skin exposed, carrying two cubs while escaping furious lionesses. I became a freak, the most confusing and humiliating legend of the animal kingdom.
Covered in bloody scratches and mud, I was pushed to the brink of despair. Why was I thrown into this beast's body? Why did my only defense mechanism involve profound social death?
Just when I barely survived a cliff dive to escape the lions, my path was blocked by two massive, highly intelligent prime male cheetahs.
But the alpha, Bradley, didn't want to kill me for my territory.
His intense gaze raked over my naked, bleeding human body with a dark, possessive hunger.
"You are full of surprises."
He purred smoothly, teaching me to magically summon a fur skirt before demanding I join his coalition.
"Oh, you'll come to me. I guarantee it."
Looking into his predatory eyes, I realized I was no longer just surviving the wild; I was the prey of a completely different kind of beast.
7.5
I was Nyx, a top-tier covert operative. But when I opened my eyes, I was trapped in the unfamiliar, overweight body of a bullied girl named Eliza.
Before I could even process the body swap, the bedroom door splintered open. I was in bed with Julian Malone, a wealthy military heir, both of us heavily drugged. Cameras flashed wildly. It was a vicious setup to ruin his career, and I was the bait.
To save his family's reputation, Julian was forced to marry me. But the moment the wedding was over, he abandoned me. His elite family treated me like a disease. His mother froze my only bank account, trying to starve me into submission.
I even intercepted a private conversation between his parents.
"Once she's in a private facility, she loses all legal standing. We can sign anything we want on her behalf."
They planned to lock me up in a mental asylum and erase my existence entirely to get rid of the "trailer park trash."
To them, I was just a weak, pathetic pawn they could crush without a second thought. They thought they had backed a helpless girl into a corner.
They had no idea they had just declared war on a lethal weapon.
I didn't cry or beg. Instead, I bypassed their state-of-the-art security, cracked their safe, and stole the financial secrets that could destroy their entire empire.
"I want five hundred thousand dollars, or these files go to the IRS."
This time, I was playing by my own rules.