The day I went into labor with the twins, I bribed the family doctor to shoot me up with every heavy-duty suppressant he could get his hands on. Anything to stall the birth.

Why? Because in my last life, Vincent—my husband, the Don—claimed to have a low sperm count.

To guarantee an heir, he lined up ten mistresses and told the whole house: whoever popped out a son first, her kid would be the next Corleone Don.

He promised if I delivered first, he'd ditch the others. Said our baby would inherit the throne.

I bought every word.

When I found out I was carrying twins, I couldn't stop shaking—I thought I'd won.

But after I gave birth, he tossed me and the babies into the freezing wine cellar and locked the place down.

"Lucy came from nothing. I just wanted to give her kid a name. You started rumors, pushed her into despair, and now she's dead—her and the baby. You're vile. Not fit to be the Don's wife. Think about what you've done. I'll open the door in three days."

Then he had the butler seal it shut.

What he didn't know?

That night, the cellar caught fire.

Me and my babies? Burned alive.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back—right before labor.

This time, I'm not staying.

Soon as I deliver and get back on my feet, I'm taking my kids and disappearing for good.

I called in the Corleone doc and demanded the last shot of suppressant.

He went pale. "Mrs. Corleone, you can't stall anymore. One more delay and you and the twins won't make it."

I bit down hard, but before I could answer, Vincent's bodyguard stormed in and ripped me off the delivery bed.

The doctor's voice cracked behind us. "Her vitals are crashing! You move her now, you're killing three lives!"

The guard didn't even flinch, just dragged me straight into the grand ballroom where the Family's press conference was already set up.

Vincent's other women were lined up too, some heavy with child, close to bursting.

Then came the bitter liquid, shoved down each of our throats by his men—an abortion drug that burned like acid.

The room erupted. Screams everywhere.

"Even if Mrs. Corleone delivers, none of us are getting picked! So why kill our babies? Ah—it burns! Somebody help!"

The suppressant couldn't hold me back anymore. Warm blood spilled down my silk nightgown.

My cry snapped the room. The women froze, eyes wide.

"She was drugged too? She's in labor!"

"If it's not her kid... then whose? Who's trying to wipe us out?"

Shaking, I forced myself up. "Get the doctor! Someone's gonna die in here!"

Lucy walked in like she owned the place—white suit sharp, heels clicking, Vincent at her side. She glowed, nothing like a woman fresh from labor.

Vincent's face hardened as he took in the mistresses writhing on the floor.

Lucy's gasp was all sugar. "Avila! What did you do? Why did they all miscarry? It's horrifying. If Vincent hadn't stayed with me, my baby could've been lost too. How could you be so cruel?"

Her eyes filled with fake tears, every word framing me as the monster.

Stunned, I shook my head, but before I could speak, heavy hands slammed me to the ground.

"You witch! Drugging them while I was gone? So jealous you'd kill them and their kids?"

Curled on the floor, pain ripping through me, I caught Lucy's smug smile flickering behind him.

"I didn't... it was her—"

"Still lying?" His roar shook the hall. "Your jealousy's hurt people before. I won't tolerate it again."

He turned to the women on the floor. "Each of you—slap her. Then you'll be sent to the best recovery center."

The guards shoved me into the center, blood still streaming down my legs like it didn't matter.

The women crept forward, tears in their eyes. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Corleone..."

One by one, the blows landed. My ears rang. Half my face went numb.

When the hall finally emptied, Vincent looked pleased with himself. He took the baby—wrapped in a luxe blanket—from a maid, Lucy clinging to his arm.

His gaze flicked over my blood-soaked body, my swollen face. For a second, something passed through his eyes. Then it was gone, iced over.

"Don't blame me for letting them hit you," he said flatly. "You cost them their babies—I had to punish you in front of everyone. Needed to show I won't cover for you anymore.

"Step out of line again, this is what you get. And don't even dream of touching Lucy's kid's inheritance rights."

I shook, staring up at him.

So... I wasn't the only one who'd come back.

No wonder a few sweet words from Lucy had him twisted.

No wonder he claimed this wasn't my first offense.

Because in the last life, he'd done the same—sentencing me and my babies to death for her.

My eyes burned, heavy with tears I refused to let fall.

"Avila Alberoni," his voice cracked sharp, "stop playing victim. I already had the doc induce Lucy's labor. She delivered before you.

"I told you—whoever gives birth first, her kid is the heir. Being my legal wife doesn't change a damn thing."

A broken laugh slipped out as I clutched my bleeding body.

"I took the suppressant to delay labor. I stepped aside for the three of you. So why won't you let me bring my babies into this world? Why drug me too? Why do you want them dead..."

He froze, brows furrowing.

"Quit lying. Your due date was last night. I asked the doctor. You already gave birth."

Through the pain, I grabbed his pant leg with my blood-slicked hand, pressing it to my still-swollen belly.

He jerked back, disgust flashing, and flung my hand off. "Lucy just gave birth—she can't stand the smell of blood.

"Drop the act. If you want to prove you weren't trying to hurt her, then tomorrow, at the Family press conference, you'll admit you're infertile and begged Lucy to carry for you.

"Then you'll hand over your shares, your property, your trust funds—to her and the child. After that, you'll serve them without complaint.

"Try anything, lay a finger on her, and I won't just punish you. Your father—rotting in the Family clinic—won't be left in peace either."

I stared at Vincent, sobs ripping out of me.

"You monster! My father's in a coma because he saved you—and now you threaten me with his life?"

He waved me off like I was nothing. "As long as you take care of Lucy and the baby, I won't touch him."

Then he walked away, Lucy curled in his arms. "Lucy, thank you for giving me an heir. You'll be rewarded."

Blood kept spilling as I begged the guards in the hall to get me to a hospital. To save my babies.

That's when Vincent's mother—Maria—stormed in. One look at the ruined ballroom, at me drenched in blood, and her face went white.

"Get her to the hospital! If anything happens to my grandbabies, you'll all be sleeping with the fishes!"

They dragged me to the Family's private hospital—yet no doctor ever came.

Maria's rage shook the walls. She demanded to know where my medical team had gone.

The nurses stammered, trembling. "Madam Maria, Don ordered all the doctors to the beach villa. Ms. Benini cut herself trimming her nails, and he feared infection... so he sent everyone to standby. There are... no doctors here."

Maria's fury burst out. "Cazzo! Insane. Absolutely insane! The wife he once begged for on his knees is bleeding out with his children, and he sends every doctor away—for a mistress with a scratch?"

It took ten calls before Vincent picked up, his tone dripping annoyance.

"What? Is Avila throwing another tantrum?"

Maria's voice shook. "Avila's bleeding out! She's unconscious! The babies' heartbeats are weakening! And you pulled her doctors? Are you trying to kill your wife and children?"

Vincent let out a cold laugh. "Did Avila put you up to this? She already gave birth yesterday. Now she's pretending to be critical? Whatever. I'm in the middle of a newborn photo shoot with Lucy and our son. She wants a doctor? Fine. I'll send someone."

Maria slammed the call shut and gripped my hand tight. "Don't be scared, Avila. The doctors are on their way."

I clutched my stomach, feeling the lives inside me slipping.

In my last life, both my babies had died in my arms.

Shaking, I gripped Maria's hand. "Maria... three years ago, my father took a bullet for Vincent. He's been in a coma ever since.

"You promised you'd treat me like your own daughter—that if Vincent ever mistreated me, you'd help me leave him.

"Please, let me divorce him. I won't fight for the heir's title. I just want my babies safe."

Tears streaked down her face as she squeezed my hand. "I owed your father my life. At first, I only meant to make you my goddaughter.

"But Vincent—he chased you so desperately, begged you to marry him. He loved you so much. How did it come to this?

"It's that bitch Lucy's fault. If she hadn't slithered in, none of this would've happened."

I gave her a shattered smile. Right—how had the man who swore under Sicilian stars to love me forever, who vowed if he betrayed me he'd die riddled with bullets, turned into this?

Now, for another woman, he'd thrown me straight into hell.

"Please, Maria," I whispered, jaw tight.

She heard the desperation and finally nodded. "Fine. When you married him, I had him sign a divorce agreement—just in case. I've kept it all these years. I'll make it official.

"Tomorrow, I'll announce you as the sole heir to the Corleone estate. As for that ungrateful son of mine—I no longer recognize him."

Maria rushed off to handle it.

I lay on the hospital bed, pain tearing through my belly in waves. My screams echoed down the sterile halls.

Maria's assistant stood frozen at the door, eyes brimming, waiting for the doctor Vincent had promised.

At last, someone came.

Not a doctor. A delivery guy.

He stepped into the blood-soaked room, stunned, and handed over a bag. Out spilled a pack of sanitary pads and a Band-Aid.

"Don said it's just postpartum bleeding. Not fatal. Handle it yourself. Stop bothering him with this."

The assistant's eyes flared red as she slapped the bag away. "Mrs. Corleone, I'm getting you out of here. Another city. Please—hold on."

I screamed until the world went dark. Finally, I blacked out.

I jolted awake as ice-cold water drenched me.

Vincent loomed over me, face twisted in disgust.

"Cut the act. You knew I'm announcing Lucy and the heir tomorrow, and you still tried running off to another city? What, hoping people would think Lucy bullied you?"

Lucy hovered behind him, baby in her arms, tears streaking her face. "Avila, I know you hate me. But if you want revenge, take it out on me. Why drag Madam Maria into it—why try to steal my baby?

"The assistant wouldn't shut up before they dragged her off, saying Madam Maria went back to change the paperwork, to adopt my child for you. Saying I'm not fit to be the heir's mother..."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Shaking, I forced the words through trembling lips. "I... didn't... take me to the hospital... my babies... they're dying..."

"Another lie." Vincent's scowl cut through me. "My mother ran out of the hospital in a frenzy, dragged in lawyers, worked all night—because you pushed her.

"You think stealing Lucy's kid will lock in your place as the heir's mother?

"Didn't you already give birth yesterday? Still faking labor to get pity? Keep dreaming."

Pain ripped through me. The blood had dried on my skin and clothes, reeking of rot.

Lucy gagged, covering her mouth. "Avila, you know I can't stand blood after giving birth. You still won't clean yourself? You're doing this on purpose to disgust me, to make me faint, aren't you?"

She shook in Vincent's arms, pale, pitiful.

"Look at you!" Vincent snapped. "Pathetic. Filthy. You've disgraced the Corleone name!"

He flicked his hand at the guards. "Keep dumping water till she shuts up."

Buckets crashed over me, ice soaking my skin, my lips turning blue, my body shaking uncontrollably. Only then did he raise his hand to stop.

Lucy sobbed against him. "Avila, please... don't take my baby. If you try, I'll throw myself out that window right now!"

She lurched toward the glass, and Vincent caught her instantly.

His rage snapped. He kicked my hand away, crouched down, voice hissing with fury. "You think hiding behind my mother will make you the heir's mother again?

"The estate's already locked down. Whatever you're plotting, it's over. And you—how many times have I warned you? Don't touch Lucy. Don't touch her kid. You never listen.

"So now, I'll handle it my way."

He spun on the guards. "She pushed Lucy to suicide. She pays. Cut Georginio's ventilator—then toss him off the balcony."

"Vincent!" I screamed. "You're insane! That's my father! He saved your life!"

"So what?" His sneer cut like a blade. "He saved me just to chain me to you, to force your kid into the Corleone Family.

"Well, I married you. I knocked you up. But you didn't deliver my first child—that's on you. My debt's paid. I owe you nothing."

"Do it!" he barked.

I lunged at the guards, but one boot caught me hard. I slammed to the ground.

Blood that had dried suddenly gushed again, pooling thick and red beneath me.

I screamed, curling in agony as my body ripped apart.

Vincent started toward me—then froze.

His eyes locked on my belly, still swollen, bared from the kick. His face drained when he saw the spreading blood.

He dropped to his knees, grabbing me with shaking hands.

Then he whipped toward Lucy, voice cracking. "What the hell is this?! You swore you oversaw Avila's delivery. You told me she gave birth yesterday—that the babies were in the nursery! Then why is her belly still huge? Why the hell is she still bleeding?!"