Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Chapter 7

Word Count: 803 | Released on: 23/04/2026

a's per

ed her head slightly to accept his kiss. At this moment, I tried to get Angelora away before they noticed, but it was

eading him through the street toward us. Damie

e sidewalk on our side, I h

ile deliberately keeping her distance from us. "Poor child. He must have suffered quite a bit being out with his mother." She turned to Damian, he

ght with a hint of impatience, as if we were nothi

eraphina, it was an epiphany. I saw a subtle, victorious light flicker in her eyes. She realized Damian d

Angelo's small hand and disappeared

was filled with the scent of old leather, cigar smoke, and a silent tension. Befo

The people in the circle are all laughing at us for taking in a woman aband

a scolded, but her face was more t

ntemptuous as she swept over my dusty silk dress-the one I'd worn through Blackw

floor silenced the noise in the room. My grandmother-Elena Moretti-came down the stairs. He

only my aunt-Old Mrs. Moretti-st

ack like a refugee." Elena's voice was low and commanding. "As the m

arrived so quickly-" the aun

as huddled in the corner. "Since your attendant can't even manage such a simple task as preparing cle

save face. Elena had just drawn a red line: I am unap

indow, gazing at the Chicago skyline. With the intuition honed by two decades of blood

m. Instead, she would call that greedy, paranoid, Valentine blo

he other end of the phone. That poor child is suffering... Isabella's reputati

She will bypass Damian's authority and directly declare that she wi

ent. I turned from the window, listening to my son's steady breathing in the next room. Tomor

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.”