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Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 715    |    Released on: 23/04/2026

a's per

ing table, then looked at me with his greedy eyes. "I won't treat you wi

d no money at the moment, I was ho

ing the rest of your life in federal prison. Tonight, the FBI will move in. The location is an underground spot

nce reserved only for playing Chopin for mafia elites, had now become the most composed wings of redemption. Relying on the first aid skills honed in that dark w

yet deeply fascinated by the monster I had become

on, clearly knowing what was happening in Chicago three hundred mi

ather-the "General" Marco Moretti-is bowing to Lorenzo Farkone. To save me from the slander meticulously woven by

sually tosses an antique coin between his fingers, glancing a

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

st hesitation, coldly replied:

n't reg

ev

is family, throwing me into the wolves. He discarded us like trash. But he didn

dust from the Gary limesto

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

fleet of black Cadillacs parked at

top what I

eavily armed Moretti family soldiers. She spent days navigating the dirty streets, br

ud, knelt before me, indifferent to the mud staining her spotless dress. "Oh

pped my bleeding palm with a dirty cloth. My eyes were like a pool

were a whole week late. By the time they arrived, th

red cars waiting to take us back to Chicago as I looked pas

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Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return
Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return
“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.”