Framed as a Traitor, Reborn To Make Them All Regret

In my last life, my brother Leo—the heir to the Moretti crime family—stripped our estate bare of every last soldier, all for a Vegas jaunt.

All because his new flame, Scarlett, had a jones for the high-roller tables.

The Volkovs—our rivals, the very ones Leo had just pissed off—saw their opening and stormed our gates. My mother, Sofia, took a bullet meant for me. Died protecting me.

I blew up Leo’s phone, my pleas turning to screams. He didn't answer.

He waltzed back in after the shooting stopped, bringing our men home, but far too late for it to matter.

Then, the news from Vegas. Scarlett was gone.

A suicide note left behind. In it, she painted me as the monster.

The one who’d leaked our weaknesses to the Volkovs.

The one who'd orchestrated a fake kidnapping and torture plot, all to drive her to despair and lure Leo home. A perfect, tragic lie.

Leo read the letter calmly. Then he burned the letter and told me, "Forget it. It's handled."

Father tore into Leo for abandoning his post, for leaving his family to die. And me? I was named the new Consigliere.

But after the celebration, Leo cornered me in the wine cellar.

His face was a mask of cold fury as he pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead.

"This is for family traitors," he hissed, his voice pure venom.

"The throne is my birthright, not some backstabbing bitch's prize!"

When I opened my eyes again, I was back.

Right in the middle of the fire and the blood.

This time, I shoved my mother behind me, dragging her toward the panic room.

And the bastards who were too blind to believe me? They’ll regret it.

In my last life, my brother Leo—the heir to the Moretti crime family—stripped our estate bare of every last soldier, all for a Vegas jaunt.

All because his new flame, Scarlett, had a jones for the high-roller tables.

The Volkovs—our rivals, the very ones Leo had just pissed off—saw their opening and stormed our gates. My mother, Sofia, took a bullet meant for me. Died protecting me.

I blew up Leo’s phone, my pleas turning to screams. He didn't answer.

He waltzed back in after the shooting stopped, bringing our men home, but far too late for it to matter.

Then, the news from Vegas. Scarlett was gone.

A suicide note left behind. In it, she painted me as the monster.

The one who’d leaked our weaknesses to the Volkovs.

The one who'd orchestrated a fake kidnapping and torture plot, all to drive her to despair and lure Leo home. A perfect, tragic lie.

Leo read the letter calmly. Then he burned the letter and told me, "Forget it. It's handled."

Father tore into Leo for abandoning his post, for leaving his family to die. And me? I was named the new Consigliere.

But after the celebration, Leo cornered me in the wine cellar.

His face was a mask of cold fury as he pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead.

"This is for family traitors," he hissed, his voice pure venom.

"The throne is my birthright, not some backstabbing bitch's prize!"

When I opened my eyes again, I was back.

Right in the middle of the fire and the blood.

This time, I shoved my mother behind me, dragging her toward the panic room.

And the bastards who were too blind to believe me? They’ll regret it.

...

The explosion was deafening.

My eyes snapped open, a cold dread washing over me.

No. This can't be happening.

I was dead. My brother Leo’s bullet had gone right through my forehead...

"Isabella! Get up! Now!" My mother Sofia’s voice, laced with a panic I remembered all too well, echoed from the hall.

I scrambled out of bed, my legs shaking.

A second blast rocked the estate, the windows rattling in their frames.

I was back.

Back on that goddamn night.

"Ma!" I burst out of my room and grabbed her wrist. "We have to get to the panic room! Now!"

"What madness are you talking about?" My mother, elegant even in a silk nightgown, looked utterly bewildered. "Our men will handle this. Carlos is on duty—"

"There are no men left!" I snarled, dragging her toward the study. "Leo stripped us bare. For that whore in Vegas!"

My mother flinched. "Isabella!"

I ignored her cry of protest, stormed into the study, and slammed my palm on the concealed button beneath Father’s desk.

A section of bookcase slid away, revealing the cold steel of the panic room door.

"Get in! Now!"

The sound of another blast, closer this time, finally shattered her denial. She scrambled into the room after me. I activated the security protocols, and the heavy steel door sealed shut behind us.

"Where's your brother?! I need to call Leo, tell him to get back here!" My mother grabbed for the phone, her voice trembling.

"He's not coming!" I spat, as the steel door shuddered from another blast. My fingers trembled, but I found the switch, activating the family’s deep-channel distress beacon. I couldn’t wait for Leo. Last time, his delay was a death sentence for her.

My stomach churned. The estate was isolated, miles from backup, and a storm raged outside.

BOOM!

The panic room door groaned and buckled. I instinctively threw my weight against it, fear rising in my throat like bile.

The call connected.

"Leo? Thank God you—"

"Ma? What the hell?" Music and shrill female laughter bled through the line. "I’m a little busy here. Scarlett and I are celebrating. Call back tomorrow."

"I'm not lying! It's a real attack! If you don't come back now, you'll be burying us!" she screamed.

His tone frosted over. "Look, I know you hate Scarlett, but this little drama is a new low. And tell Isabella her games are pathetic. I'm not falling for this shit."

My blood ran cold.