Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Chapter 4

Word Count: 757 | Released on: Today at 10:16

ella

's belongings, her hands still trembling as she

iting convoy, a sharp, condescendi

gedy, Miss

tine wool coat, her nose slightly wrinkled in disgust as she took in my dirt-stained clothes. She

ng with mock pity. "A heavy price for a discarded wife. We've prepared a seat for you

t curve of her lips, expecting

ht past her, my boots crunching against the gravel. I bypassed the standard sedan and headed

lly sprinted ahead to pull

p, and rolled the tinted window down halfway. Carla stood frozen

r, my voice devoid of any

ially annulled your marriage! You have no power anym

at being gods meant nothing to a woman who had already seen the end of

When the imposing wrought-iron gates of the Moretti estate fin

round to a s

e entrance. Standing casually by the hood was a man I recogni

life, Damien's men hadn't come for Angelo today,

epped out, immediately pushing An

Miss Moretti. I am here on Don Valenti's orders. I'v

enom. "Damien is a monster who trades his own flesh and blood like cas

"It is for Angelo's future, Mis

nto Leo's eyes, seeing the blind loyalty that would eventually destroy him. "Tell Damien if he trie

itching toward his jacket. "Miss Isabell

leaned in, delivering a truth he couldn't possibly understand yet. "Soon, she will need a loyal man to handle some very dar

ck a nerve he didn't know he had. Without a direct order fr

s eyes never leaving mine

elo's hand tightly, I walked through the massive iron gates of my grandfather's estate. I

Chapter End

Claim Your Bonus at the APP

Open

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.”