Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Chapter 6

Word Count: 713 | Released on: Today at 10:16

ella

of the Prohibition-era distillery. Rusted copper stills loomed

I ordered Mad

, their hands instinctively hovering over

focating scent of old whiskey. As I navigated the decaying floorboards, the fa

irt. My breath caught. He was sculpted like a ruthless Roman deity, his back rippling with lean, predatory muscle. Hea

itten)?" he drawled, his tone la

heer, suffocating dominance radiating from him felt entirely wrong for a grunt.

sing yourself in a graveyard like

lips. "I'm hard to kill. What's a woman

dicinal mold," I lied smoothly, my g

his heavy boots was a tarnished cigar box stamped with a fa

anger in the room. "Seems I'm in the wrong win

ery movement, burning with a sudden, inte

nto the daylight, I swore I heard him snap his fingers, followed by a

go's Gold Coast. I had secured a preliminary deal with the Ghost, but the victory felt heavy as I looked down

lato shop, my heart ached. I ordered the convoy to s

cone. For a second, he looked like a regular four-year-old, untouched

ispered, his vo

e across the bustling stre

ue was my ex-husband, Damien Valenti. He wasn't looking at us. His

around Seraphina's throat. She tilted her head up, her eyes shining with adoration. Damien smiled-a soft, genuine smil

a public declaration of their

ical power or family alliances anymore. It was the absolute erasure of

raw, agonizing pain in my chest didn't break me; it crystallized. I stared at the happy couple acro

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.”