Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Author: Li Xiamo

Chapter 1

Word Count: 731 | Released on: Today at 10:16

ella

ago tasted like

of Valenti territory, watching the taillights of the black SUV fade int

wife, Izzy, bu

Seraphina Ricci, the Falcone Consigliere's daughter. I chose exile. Stripp

ke through the sound of the

usted dumpster, soaked to the

of losing me. My heart shattered and soared all at onc

. A derelict m

mell of mildew and impending death. Angelo lay on the stained mattress, his small chest heaving with wet, sh

egged, bringing a cup of lukewarm

His fever-bright ey

elet-Damien's wedding gift, a golden shackle that now felt like a mockery. With a g

Without hesitating, I sliced it across my own wrist. The p

pered, pressing my bleeding wrist to hi

ed on his chin, useless. I collapsed over hi

ien

se, casting a warm, golden light over the modern art and

her crystal champagne flute. She wore my ring, my name, and a silk robe th

lla's exile had solidified my alliance with the Falcones, cementing my power. But Ser

my pocket and dialed

rust-belt town in Indiana. Go ther

ng dinner. I pulled my new Queen into my arms, completely unaware of

ella

motel room was he

wo days, suddenly smoothed out. He stirred weakly. His bea

thereal smile-a final, innocent offering of love. Then, his tiny han

sp of his br

e word tearing my throat.

my ears. I didn't scream. The grief was too profound, too absolute for sound. In that cramped, r

eternal. A promise written in the blood on my

nde

Chapter End

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Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Li Xiamo Mafia

“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.”