My fiancé, Miguel Costello, was the Don of the Chicago Costello crime family, the most feared name in the underworld.

But to me, he was as cold as forged steel, never showing me a sliver of warmth.

It wasn't until I was shot by our enemies, bleeding out on the cold, unforgiving floor, that I caught him gazing at a photograph of my younger sister, Isla Marino, his eyes burning with a raw, desperate obsession.

It was only then that I finally understood. Miguel had never seen me as his wife. His heart had always belonged to Isla.

Marrying me was just his way of securing his place as my father’s successor.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at our engagement dinner.

In front of everyone, Miguel ruthlessly tore our marriage contract to shreds. Then, amid a chorus of congratulations, he took Isla’s hand and announced their engagement.

And I walked over to my father, the Don of the Costello family.

"Papa, I've made up my mind. I'm willing to take Isla's place and marry into the Volkov Syndicate in New York."

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1

"This engagement is over. The woman I love is Isla. It will never be you!"

At the engagement party, Miguel Costello, impeccable in a custom-tailored black suit, roared those words at me in front of all our guests, his face a mask of rage.

A single, chilling thought cut through the chaos: He’s been reborn, too.

I lowered my gaze in silent acknowledgment.

Looking at his face, still so young yet painfully familiar, I felt a dizzying sense of unreality.

I trusted my intuition completely. In my past life, after ten years as Miguel's wife, he had never once truly seen me.

In that life, my father, the Don of the Costello family, had given the young Miguel an ultimatum.

If he wanted to become the next Don, he had to marry me.

Miguel, ambitious and determined to push the family's power to new heights, had gritted his teeth and agreed.

Meanwhile, my younger sister, Isla Marino, was to be married into the Volkov Syndicate in New York. Unwilling to go, she cried and begged me to take her place, even threatening suicide.

And I, blinded by my secret love for Miguel, refused without a second thought.

I thought marriage would bring me the love I craved.

But reality was a cruel awakening.

Even after becoming the new Don, Miguel never regarded me as his wife, though I was, in name, the Donna.

For a decade, I dirtied my hands running his vast gray-market empire, yet I never received so much as a kind word in return.

I had told myself over and over that perhaps Miguel was just too focused on expanding the family's influence to have time for romance.

That illusion shattered in the last moments of my life.

In the last moments of my life, I saw him open a hidden safe in his study.

It was filled to the brim with Isla's private photographs and love letters.

Miguel gently caressed the letters, his eyes shining with a love and longing he had never shown me.

In that instant, my world shattered.

It wasn't that Miguel couldn't love; he just didn't love me.

Ten years of devotion had earned me neither the family's respect nor the love I had begged for.

Before I could even process the colossal betrayal, a bullet from an enemy tore through my chest.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back at my engagement party.

Watching Miguel erupt in the middle of the ballroom as stunned guests looked on, I strode over to my father.

"Papa, I'm willing to take Isla's place and marry into the Volkov Syndicate in New York."

"Are you sure?"

Hearing my father's voice after so long, I had to fight back tears.

"Yes, I've thought it through. Isla and Miguel are in love. I won't be the villain who keeps them apart. From what I hear, the new Don of the Volkov Syndicate is a capable man. I'll be fine."

Having said my piece, I glanced toward the center of the ballroom.

Miguel had his arm wrapped around Isla’s waist, his face alight with the thrill of a young man in love, nothing like the jaded forty-year-old he had become.

I said nothing more and turned to leave the ballroom.

This time, I would let them have each other.

I would not repeat my past mistakes.

In my previous life, to solidify our alliance, I had moved into Miguel's penthouse at my father's instruction.

Since my father hadn't yet arranged my trip to New York, I was, for the moment, still living there.

Miguel descended the spiral staircase, his smile vanishing the instant he saw me. His expression turned cold, as if he were looking at something unpleasant he'd found on his shoe.

No, that wasn't right. He would treat a stranger with more courtesy.

"Lucia, why are you still here? Isla and I are engaged. Why are you still squatting in my house? Have you no shame?"

I scoffed internally.

I gave him a fleeting glance and calmly cut a piece of tiramisu from my plate. "I'm not interfering with you two. I just haven't found another place to live yet."

Seeing me so indifferent, Miguel frowned. "What game are you playing? I'm warning you, Lucia. No matter what you do, I will not marry you."

Even though I'd braced myself, his words still sent a pang through my heart.

In my past life, I had tried for ten years and failed to earn a place in his heart.

After our engagement, Miguel had deliberately kept our relationship in the shadows. Most in the family knew their Don was iron-fisted, but few knew a woman behind the scenes handled his illicit accounts.

Now, merely engaged to Isla, he couldn't wait to shout it from the rooftops.

Even the street-level soldati knew that the new Don of the Costello family was about to marry Isla as his Donna.

The difference between being the one he loved and the one he didn't was staggering.

Before I could respond, Isla's cloying voice drifted down from upstairs.

"Darling, didn't we say we were going downtown? I want to pick out the perfect diamond for our wedding rings."

The frost on Miguel's face melted instantly, his expression softening into one of pure adoration.

"Of course. Anything for you."

Isla linked her arm with Miguel's and shot me a contemptuous glance.

In our past life, Miguel had claimed to be a germaphobe. He refused to share a bed with me and wouldn't even drink from a glass I'd touched.

But now, as Isla casually handed him the whiskey she'd just sipped, he took it without a second thought, his lips touching the same spot hers had been.

Even though I'd resolved to let go, the sight of their intimacy still stung.

Disgusting.

I put down my fork and retreated to my room. Only then did the suffocating tightness in my chest begin to ease.

I stared blankly at the framed photo on the wall, one I had begged Miguel to take with me in our past life.

In the photo, my smile was radiant. The man beside me, however, looked impatient, his expression bordering on disgust.

How could I have been so blind?

Shaking off the thought, I stood, took the frame from the wall, and smashed it against the floor before sweeping the shards into the trash.

If he believed this photo shouldn't exist, then I would make it so.

Just then, a sharp knock came at the door, followed by Miguel's icy voice.

"Isla likes the city view from the master bedroom. Pack your things and move out so she can have it. The other guest rooms are full. You can stay in the servants' quarters for now."

On what grounds? I wanted to scream.

But I swallowed the rage, pressing my lips into a thin line and forcing a nod.

Miguel was always the same. He would sacrifice me for her without a second thought.

My compliance seemed to surprise him, earning me a second glance.

"Don't try any tricks. Behave yourself. After Isla and I are married, I'll find one of my men for you to marry off to."

"That won't be necessary. You don't need to trouble yourself with my fate."

A cold laugh escaped me.

A vein throbbed at Miguel's temple. "Watch your tone."

I didn't spare him another look. I stuffed my few clothes into a suitcase and walked out without another word.

That night, I curled up on the narrow, lumpy bed in the servants' room.

The soundproofing was nonexistent. I could clearly hear the man's suppressed grunts and the woman's theatrical moans from the master bedroom next door, on a relentless loop.

A voice in my head screamed, How could he do this to you?!

I pulled the thin blanket over my head, but the sounds still bled through, relentless.

Tears slowly soaked my pillow.

In my past life, Miguel and I were married for ten years, but he never once touched me.

Even when I swallowed my pride, trying everything to please him, he remained cold and distant.

Sometimes, he would mock me mercilessly.

"You're the Don's daughter, for God's sake. Have some dignity. If only you were one-tenth as demure as Isla."

At the time, shame had burned me from the inside out.

Looking back, I finally understood. He couldn't contain his adoration for Isla, so he elevated her by tearing me down.

The noise from next door continued deep into the night. I barely slept.

When morning finally broke, I had just stepped out of my cramped room when Isla called my name.

Her cheeks were flushed, her silk robe hanging open to reveal the dark marks scattered across her collarbone and neck.

"Lucia, the servants all have the day off. Be a dear and help serve drinks at my party? I was so exhausted last night, my whole body aches."

I started to walk past her, but she pulled a gold pocket watch from her robe, its face engraved with our family crest.

It was a keepsake from my grandmother, the woman who had raised me. I used to carry it everywhere, but it had vanished a month ago.

I had been sick with guilt over losing it.

I never imagined she had been the one to steal it.

"Give it back!"