Reborn: The Mafia Captive Wife's Revenge

Seraphina POV

Angelo was halfway through the splintered doorframe when Damien's voice, though ragged, cracked through the dusty air like a whip.

"Angelo."

The massive enforcer froze, his broad shoulders tensing. He turned back slowly.

"Kneel," Damien commanded, his dark eyes devoid of any warmth. "And apologize to your future Mafia Queen."

The silence that followed was deafening. Angelo's face turned a mottled, furious purple. A made man, a lethal *Soldier* of the Falcone family, being ordered to bow to a country girl in a ruined safe house. It was the ultimate humiliation. But the supremacy of loyalty bound him; a *Soldier* did not defy his *Underboss*.

Angelo's jaw clenched so hard I thought his teeth would shatter. Slowly, agonizingly, he dropped heavily to one knee. He refused to meet my eyes, staring instead at the blood-stained floorboards.

"My apologies, *Signorina*" (Miss), he ground out, every syllable dripping with suppressed venom.

Damien didn't dismiss him. He simply shifted his gaze to me, ignoring the bleeding wound at his side. "I am Damien Falcone," he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in my very bones. "Your fiancé."

An hour later, the suffocating tension followed us into the back of the black Duesenberg Model J.

The luxurious leather seats smelled of expensive cigars and gunpowder. Angelo was behind the wheel, his hateful glare burning into me through the rearview mirror as we cruised through the bustling streets of Chicago.

Damien sat beside me, a temporary bandage wrapped tightly around his torso. Despite his injury, his presence consumed the space.

"You pulled me from the fire," Damien said suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. He turned his head, his sharp, calculating gaze pinning me to the seat. "Name your reward. Any compensation you desire, it is yours."

My heart hammered against my ribs. This was my chance. The Damien of my past life had locked me away to rot, but this man owed me his life.

"Break the engagement," I said, my voice steady, though my hands trembled in my lap.

The faint trace of civility vanished from Damien's face. His expression turned to absolute ice, his eyes darkening into bottomless pits.

"I was raised in the country," I pushed on, desperate to sever this fatal tie. "I don't know your rules. I don't belong in your world. I will only tarnish the Falcone name. Call off the wedding."

Damien leaned closer, the scent of copper and dark musk enveloping me. "The contract was sealed by my grandfather, the *Don*," he replied, his voice a velvet threat. "It is unbreakable. As for the rules, you will learn them."

He reached out, his knuckles lightly brushing against my cheek. I flinched, but he didn't pull away. "I admire your bluntness, Fia. But do not mistake my gratitude for weakness. You are mine now."

I swallowed hard, turning my face toward the window. The first battle was lost. He was more possessive, more terrifyingly stubborn than the ghost in my memories.

By the time we arrived at the Moretti estate, the afternoon sun was casting long, golden shadows over the manicured Italian gardens. Damien was immediately escorted to a quiet side wing by his men to be treated by a discreet doctor.

A maid was assigned to lead me toward the main house. As we walked down the gravel path, I spotted my half-sister, Rosalia, and her brother, Marco, standing near the edge of the deep ornamental pool.

They were whispering furiously to each other. When Rosalia saw me, her malicious sneer instantly morphed into a sickly sweet, entirely fake smile.

"Sister! You've finally arrived," Rosalia called out, stepping dangerously close to the edge of the freezing water, gesturing for me to join her.

Every instinct I had screamed that it was a trap. They wanted a spectacle for my first day.

Before I could alter my path, a slight movement in the shadows caught my eye. Through the thick ivy of the nearby gazebo, I saw him.

Damien was reclining in the shade, his suit jacket discarded. He was perfectly concealed from my siblings, but his dark eyes were fixed intently on Rosalia and Marco. He had heard them. I could see it in the cold, expectant tilt of his head. Then, his gaze slid slowly to me, waiting to see what I would do.