Reborn: The Lethal Ex-Wife's Bloody Return

Isabella's Perspective

Dr. Rossi stared at the barely breathing boy on the stainless steel operating table, then looked at me with his greedy eyes. "No cash of a hundred thousand dollars, I won't treat you, sweetie. This isn't charity."

I didn't even blink. Although I didn't have a single dollar on me now, I held a stake far deadlier than cash.

"I don't have cash," I said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion, "but I have information that can save you from spending the rest of your life in a federal prison. Tonight, the FBI will raid the underground casino on Eighth Street. The undercover agent's name is Miller, code-named 'Snake.' He will meet his handler at the docks at exactly midnight."

Rosy turned deathly pale, the color draining from his face instantly. Under the mixed shock and awe in Rosy's eyes, I pushed the massive assistant, who was as tall as a hill. The hands that had once only played Chopin for the elite of the mafia had now become the most composed wings of salvation. Relying on the first aid skills honed in that dark world in the past, I drained the oppressive fluid from Angela's chest with astonishing precision. With a soft sigh, his violently ups and downs chest miraculously calmed down, turning into long and regular breaths.

Rossi watched me from the side, filled with fear, yet utterly fascinated by the monster I had transformed into. "You can stay," he muttered, stepping back.

Hours later, as I held my sleeping son in that blood-stained back room, I knew clearly what was happening in Chicago, three hundred miles away. Memories of my past life replayed in my mind with repulsive clarity.

At this very moment, in the glass-top apartment of the "Lucree" building, my fate is being nailed to the gallows. My grandfather, known as "The General" Marco Moretti, is bowing to Lorenzo Farcone. To save me from the carefully woven slander of the mistress of the Farcone family, my grandfather is being forced to give up control of our family over the Chicago port.

I can almost hear Lorenzo's smooth, aristocratic voice. He casually tosses an antique coin while looking at Damián Valentín, standing by his side with a heart of ashes.

"To solidify your marriage with Miss Ricci, the Moretti family has surrendered the port," Lorenzo probes the new godfather. "In exchange, I declare your marriage to Isabella Moretti null and void. Damián, how do you feel about this deal?"

And Damien, without the slightest hesitation, coldly replied: "My wife is only Seraphina Rich."

"You won't regret it?"

"Never."

With just one word, Damien stripped me of all the protection of the Valenti family and threw me into the wolves. He discarded us like garbage. But he didn't know that the woman he threw away had already crawled back from hell.

A week later, the pungent dust from the Gary limestone quarry filled my throat.

I swung the heavy iron hammer, the violent impact vibrating through my arms. My hands were already raw, blood seeping into the rough canvas gloves. I needed clean cash to buy antibiotics for Angelo, and I also needed this cruel, almost self-abusive heavy labor, to forge this body into a weapon.

In the white dust haze, a fleet of black Cadillac Carlyle cars stopped at the edge of this desolate mine pit.

I didn't stop what I was doing.

Maria, the most loyal servant of our family, stumbled down from the carriage, flanked by heavily armed Moretti family soldiers. She spent days navigating the dirty streets, bribing bartenders and informants, just to find her former Mafia queen moving stones in this wasteland.

"Miss!" Maria's voice broke into heart-wrenching sobs. She ran through the mud to kneel before me, completely unconcerned about the mud staining her spotless dress. "Oh, God, Miss Isabella... look at what you've suffered. We're coming to take you home."

I slowly lowered the iron hammer, took off my gloves, and wrapped the bleeding palm with a dirty cloth carelessly. My eyes were like a pool of stagnant water, without the shock or relief she expected.

I know they will come today. But in my previous life, they were a whole week late. By the time they arrived, they only just managed to buy a small wooden coffin for Angelo.

"I know, Maria," I said calmly, my gaze passing over her weeping figure as I looked toward the armored vehicles waiting to take us back to Chicago. "Could you help me pack the children's luggage?"