Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Chapter 2

Word Count: 754 | Released on: 23/04/2026

a's per

barely alive, then looked at me with those snobbish eyes. "I won't treat a

single penny on me, I held a bargaining chip

the rest of your life in federal prison. Tomorrow night, the FBI will raid the underground casino on Eighth Stre

My hands, once used to play Chopin for Mafia elites, now transformed into the calmest wings of redemption. Using the first-aid techniques honed in that dark world, I deftly

nd fascination with the monster I had transformed in

knew perfectly well what was happening in Chicago, three hundred miles a

known as "The General," was bowing to Lorenzo Falcone. To protect me from the elaborate schemes orchestrated by the matr

asually tossed an antique coin between his fingers as he glanc

the port," Lorenzo probed the new godfather. "In exchange, I declare your marr

hesitation, coldly replied, "M

n't reg

he Valenti family and threw me into the clutches of wolves. He abandoned us like t

ust from the Gary limesto

eeding, blood seeping into my rough canvas gloves. I needed clean cash to buy antibiotics for Angelo

y of black Cadillac Escalades came to a

t stop

oretti family soldiers. She had spent days navigating the filthy streets, bribing bartenders and

d and knelt before me, not caring that the mud had soiled her spotless clothes

wrapped my bleeding hand with a dirty cloth. My eyes were like st

ey arrived, they only had time to buy him a small wooden coffin. That v

verything is com

weeping figure to the armored vehicles waiting to take

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.”