Reborn To Ruin The Mafia Don

Isabella POV

The fire of the *Angel's Kiss* was melting my sanity, turning my blood into liquid heat. I was trapped in a sprawling, dimly lit suite at the top of the Elysium Casino. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the neon lights of the city bled into the night, but inside, there was only the suffocating scent of aged whiskey, dark tobacco, and raw, dangerous masculinity.

And the crushing weight of the man pinning me to the black silk sheets.

Damien Moretti. The Dark Don of the Moretti family.

He wasn't making love to me; he was exorcising a demon. His movements were brutal, an unforgiving rhythm designed to sweat the poison out of my veins. His hands, rough and calloused from years of violence, bruised my hips, holding me captive in a cage of muscle and dominance.

"Look at me," he growled, his voice a dark rumble that vibrated against my chest. His obsidian eyes were lethal, burning with a possessive fury that terrified me. "Who am I? Say it."

I thrashed beneath him, my mind fractured by the drug, but his grip only tightened.

"Say my name, Isabella," he demanded, his jaw clenched.

"Damien," I sobbed, the name tearing from my throat in a broken gasp. "Damien Moretti."

As the syllables left my lips, the climax hit me with the force of a physical blow, shattering the last remnants of the drug. And in that blinding moment of release, the dam in my mind broke.

Memories—bloody, agonizing, and entirely impossible—crashed into my skull like a freight train.

*A secluded highway. Julian Bellini stepping out of the shadows, a fake savior bleeding from a staged wound, whispering sweet, venomous lies of love and protection.*

*My engagement party. Damien’s soldiers storming the Falcone estate. The Dark Don dragging me away from Julian, declaring to the entire Chicago underworld that I was his Mafia Queen.*

*Blood. So much blood. My father, a proud Caporegime, beheaded in Colombia. My brothers, Leo and Ethan, riddled with sniper bullets. My sweet sister Sophia, dumped naked in a filthy alley with a needle in her arm. The Falcone line, annihilated overnight by Julian and my fake sister, Rosalie, while I blindly blamed my new husband.*

*My own treason. Whispering Moretti secrets into Julian’s ear. The orchestrated car crash that killed Damien’s mother. The agonizing screams of his little sister, Angelica, sold to a brutal Russian Bratva monster as a peace offering.*

*An abandoned warehouse. The silver Beretta trembling in my hands. Damien rushing in, alone and desperate to save me, only to find my trap. The look of profound betrayal in his eyes as I pulled the trigger, shooting the only man who had ever truly protected me through the heart.*

*The freezing, pitch-black water of Lake Michigan filling my lungs. Rosalie’s triumphant laughter echoing above the surface as she held me under, drowning me on the very day Julian was crowned 'Don of Dons'.*

*And then, the void. Five years as a lingering ghost, watching a stranger—Atticus Carbone—rise like a vulture to unleash a merciless Vendetta. Watching him slaughter Julian and Rosalie, burning their empire to ash before burying my bones beside the husband I had wrongfully murdered.*

I gasped, my eyes snapping wide open as I was violently yanked back to the present.

The drug was gone. The sweat on my skin turned ice-cold.

I was breathing. My heart was beating.

I stared up at the ceiling of the Elysium penthouse, my chest heaving. Slowly, agonizingly, I turned my head. Damien was pulling away from me, his broad, heavily scarred back flexing as he reached for his discarded trousers. He was alive.

I had been reborn on the very night my descent into hell began.

The silence in the suite was suddenly deafening, heavy with the scent of sex and unspoken threats. I pulled the ruined black silk sheets up to my trembling collarbones, staring at the broad shoulders of the man I had killed in another life. He didn't look back at me with the desperate love I remembered from that warehouse. His posture was rigid, radiating a chilling, calculated hostility.

He reached for the phone on the nightstand, his profile carved from unyielding stone. The nightmare of my past life was over, but as I watched Damien dial a number with cold precision, I realized a new, far more terrifying reality had just begun.