Second Chance with the Mafia Kingpin

Fifteen days left until the divorce was finalized by the court.

Vincent never came home.

One night, bored, I found myself back on the South Side.

I didn't expect to see Claire in the community church, praying.

She was still in that same faded dress, looking at the statue of the Virgin Mary with such devotion.

Suddenly, as if she felt something, she turned her head slightly.

Her eyes found me in the crowd and lit up. She hurried over.

She took my hands in hers, her finger tracing on my palm.

"I'm so sorry about the other day. My boyfriend showed up unexpectedly. I'd love to buy you dinner to make up for it."

In my past life, Vincent said she was different from us, from people with blood on their hands.

He said her soul was pure, that she was an angel on earth.

I scoffed at that back then.

How innocent could a girl working in a South Side dive bar really be? She was just putting on an act for him.

But seeing her now… maybe he was right.

"I should be the one thanking you. Come on, my treat."

I took her to a quiet Italian place nearby.

When the waiter brought out her risotto, her eyes started to well up.

"What's wrong?"

She wiped a tear away and wrote on the notepad she carried with her.

"I gave up everything for him. But ever since I got pregnant, he's been pulling away."

So, they'd slept together.

I should have expected it, but the words still hit my heart like a bullet.

"Does he… have a wife?"

Her question sent a chill down my spine.

The pain I'd felt a second ago was replaced by a wave of absolute terror.

"No, of course not," I forced a smile. "You're a blessing. If I were him, I'd spoil you rotten. Why would a man ever run from that?"

If she found out Vincent was married, she would leave him.

And Vincent would assume I'd planned it.

I couldn't even imagine what he would do to my parents, all the way in Sicily.

You can't bet on a devil's humanity.

I made an excuse and slipped away to the restroom. I called my mother.

Only after she confirmed they had arrived safely at the family's old castle in Sicily did I finally breathe a sigh of relief.

My mother could hear the tension in my voice.

"Isabella, is something wrong? Between you and Vincent?"

My eyes burned, and I wanted to tell her everything.

But the words wouldn't come out.

In my first life, after my parents' death, Vincent faked my death certificate and married Claire, leaving me locked in that warehouse.

I was shot trying to escape a fire I'd set myself.

He faked my death certificate, burned me alive, and married Claire.

I hated him. And I hated Claire. I hated everyone who had ever hurt me.

I tried everything to escape.

I even stole a lighter from one of the men he sent to bring me food.

One night, I set a fire, hoping to escape in the chaos.

But the second I ran out of the flames, one of his men put a bullet through my heart.

"Isabella," my mother's voice was soft, a balm on my frayed nerves, "whatever you decide, we will support you. We can always start over. Your father and I just want you to be safe, and to be happy."

"Thanks, Mamma. I know what I have to do now."