On the day of the funeral, Marcus asked me to share him with his sisters-in-law.

The moment the news broke, Selena, the eldest brother's wife, hurled her wine glass to the floor.

Vivian, the second brother's wife, raised her voice and tore into Marcus for having no sense of decency.

But the Hartley family's men dropped to their knees, begging the two widows to become Marcus’s mistresses, to carry on the bloodline in honor of their fallen husbands.

I stood off to the side watching, and something in me snapped.

I shoved through the crowd, slammed my hands on the long table, and demanded to know exactly what Marcus thought I was to him.

I called him no better than a thug. Then I turned on the two sisters-in-law, called them frauds in widow's clothing, and by the end I'd said something unforgivable to just about everyone in that room.

After that, I couldn't let it go. I hired a lawyer and sued them for fraud, for a staged marriage. They turned it around on me and said I was plotting to swallow the entire Hartley estate and drive what was left of the family into the ground.

My father's business was sabotaged again and again. Three key shipping routes went dark. The dockyard was seized.

I was thrown out of the estate and died in a damp basement in Sicily, with no doctor and no family. The landlord found me when he came to collect rent.

I only learned the truth after I died. They'd been working together all along.

His public reveal of the mistress was merely meant to drive me to snap, giving him a valid excuse to end our marriage.

Then I opened my eyes. I was back in that living room, on that same day.

The portraits of the two brothers sat on the long table. Selena stood in a black dress, eyes rimmed red. "Marcus, your brother's body is barely cold, and you want us to be your mistresses?"

Vivian wore a pale blouse, her voice trembling. "I'd sooner die than betray your brother."

This time around, I was going to give them exactly what they asked for.

"Anna, how can you just sit there?"

Selena steadied herself against the table's edge and pushed to her feet. The wine glass had shattered on the marble floor, sending shards skidding in every direction. One had caught her hand, leaving a thin cut across the back, blood trailing down her pale wrist and dripping onto the agreement spread out below her.

Last time, I'd been shaking with rage. I'd slapped Selena across the face right there on the spot.

This time, I just set down my cup, pulled a napkin off the table, and held it out to her.

"Selena, you've hurt your hand. Let me have someone drive you to the hospital."

Selena went still. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Across the room, Vivian froze where she stood, the agreement crumpling in her grip, her arms slowly dropping to her sides. They hadn't been waiting for me to agree. They'd been waiting for me to explode.

Last time I'd exploded, said every vicious thing I felt, and walked straight into the trap they'd dug for me. I wasn't going to be that stupid again.

"Anna." Selena's voice wavered. "You can't actually be okay with this. You're fine with us becoming your husband's mistresses?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I tilted my head slightly. "And if you'd rather not, Selena, I'm perfectly happy to tell Marcus to drop the whole thing."

"Who said anything about dropping it?"

Marcus had always maintained a composed demeanor among the family, rarely losing his composure. Once that roar burst out of him, no one present dared to make a sound—no one dared even breathe.

He turned to me, exhaled slowly, and softened his voice. "What I mean is... the Hartley bloodline matters. It's not something we can just ignore."

"You're right," I said pleasantly. "As long as they're willing, I have absolutely no objection."

I stood, turned, and walked out of the room.

Behind me, I heard Selena's voice: "Marcus, she agreed again. Do we keep going with the plan?"

"Leave it to me."

The wind came in through the corridor, biting cold. The memories of my last life washed over me. I'd died in that basement, three days of fever, no doctor, no one. The landlord had found me. Even then, lying there, I'd told myself Marcus would come. He didn't. He was too busy dividing up my father's shipping lines with the sisters-in-law to give me a second thought.

My phone buzzed. It was Uncle Charlie, my father's old deputy, now running the legitimate London branch. His message read: Anna, the position in London is still open. You can start whenever you're ready.

I typed back one word: Okay.

I pressed my fingernail into my palm. The sting brought me back.

Ryan, my personal bodyguard, hurried after me, a rare look of unease etched across his face. He'd been with me long enough and never once had he seen me fall completely silent in a setting like that.

"Did you actually agree to all of that?"

"I agreed."

"But—"

"Pull up the agreement my father signed back then."

He started to say something, then closed his mouth and turned to go. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, watching the figures moving inside, some arguing, some crying, some already running numbers in their heads.

Last time, I'd fought to protect this marriage and my dignity with everything I had. What I got for it was a single sheet of divorce papers and a basement.

This time, they could have whatever they wanted. Whether they could hold onto it was another question entirely.

"The agreement from back then is all here."

A thick stack of papers, every page drawn up by the lawyers my father had retained. Three of the Calloway family's shipping routes had been contributed as equity stakes, amounting to fifteen percent of the Hartley family's territorial holdings. In my last life, every bit of it had ended up in Marcus's pocket after the divorce.

"Get Garrett in here."

Garrett, the treasurer, arrived quickly and stood before me with his eyes shifting around the room. Five years managing the family accounts, and five years in Marcus's back pocket.

"My fifteen-percent stake, starting this quarter: I want all the returns deposited directly into my personal account."

His expression shifted. "The returns have always been pooled and managed collectively by the family."

"That stake came from my father's equity contribution. It's not a shared family asset. The returns are mine to direct, and it says so in the agreement, word for word."

He forced a smile. "I'd have trouble explaining that to the Don."

"I'm the Donna. These matters were always going to fall to me eventually."

He hesitated, still looking for an out. I met his eyes and let the silence sit.

"Garrett, if this is too much trouble for you, I can always bring in someone from outside to go through the books."

His expression changed immediately. Five years of accounts, and he knew better than anyone how many numbers in those ledgers couldn't see daylight. If outsiders came in to audit, he'd be the first one burned. In Sicily, betrayal was never punished with a pink slip.

"Donna, I wouldn't hear of it. This is entirely my responsibility."

After he left, Ryan murmured, "Are the accounts off? Should I find a trustworthy accountant?"

"No need." I picked up my coffee and took a sip. "Let's see how much they've already taken first."

I'd spent all of my last life fixated on Marcus, completely in the dark about the family's finances. Coming back, I wasn't going to live like that again.

That evening, Marcus came. He pushed open the door, face carrying its usual carefully measured warmth. The sun was going down outside, and the light caught the angles of his face. He was striking, and no wonder every woman in Sicily wanted a piece of him.

"Anna. Are you really not bothered by what happened today?"

"Do you think I should be?"

He reached for my hand. I lifted my coffee cup and shifted it out of reach without making a show of it. His hand hovered a moment in the air, then pulled back.

"You've matured."

He was quiet for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "Anna, I hope you understand. I'm the Don now, and every decision I make has to consider the family." He paused. "But don't worry. Selena and Vivian will move into the beach house. They won't be around to disturb us."

"Fine."

"You don't object?"

I looked at him and smiled. I could see it in his eyes: testing me, confused, and underneath that, disappointed. He needed an excuse, needed me to make a scene and give him something to use. I wasn't giving it to him.

"Marcus, before they move in, I'd like to sort through my own assets."

"Your assets?"

"Garrett mentioned the returns have always been managed by you collectively."

Marcus's expression shifted, just for a fraction of a second, and then he smiled.

"I've been handling those small things on your behalf. No need to trouble yourself. Focus on your own family affairs."

"Being Donna comes with its own responsibilities."

"That sounds exhausting." He stood, tone gentle but final. "I don't want you wearing yourself out."

I didn't push it. Marcus took it as a passing impulse, nothing more. But it wasn't.

After he left, I told Ryan, "First thing tomorrow morning, set up a meeting with the lawyer my father used back then."

Ryan frowned. "The letters you sent to your family previously were intercepted by Marcus’s men."

"I know."

I picked up the document from the desk and opened it to the first page. It was the offer letter Uncle Charlie had forwarded from London, signed in the lower right corner by an old friend of my father's, a legitimate businessman with no ties to Sicily and no reason to fear Marcus.

"This time, we go a different direction."

The message went out that night. Ryan registered an anonymous account, sent the documents to my father's old friend, and had him relay everything to my father on the other end.

The next morning, I went to Garrett's office to look at the ledgers. He wasn't there. But Selena was.

Her hand was still wrapped in gauze. She kept her eyes low, projecting the image of someone utterly fragile, until she saw me, and then the tears started.

"Anna, please don't blame me for what happened yesterday. I was devastated. I lost control."

"My husband is gone. Died in that fight. I've been a wreck, and all I want now is somewhere quiet to get through the rest of my life. If Marcus is making me his mistress because of some obligation to continue the bloodline, honestly, I'd rather not. That kind of talk gets out, and it makes your position as Donna impossible too."

I watched her twist and cringe through the whole speech while knowing exactly who she really was, the woman who'd had me destroyed in my last life. What a nauseating performance.

"Don't worry. I don't care what people say, and I don't blame you."

She looked up at me, eyes still glistening. "You really don't?"

"Blame you for what? You're doing this for the family."

She lowered her head. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. As she stood to leave, she steadied herself casually on the edge of the table, and her gaze swept across the asset documents I'd left open on the desk, pausing just half a beat.

"What are you working on?"

"Just looking through some things."

"That's what accountants are for. No need to do it yourself."

She left. Less than an hour later, Marcus walked in, face already set hard.

"Anna. Selena mentioned you're going through the accounts."

"I'm just reviewing some old documents. What's the problem?"

"When you start looking at things like that, people in the family get nervous."

"Why would they be nervous?"

"Anna." He kept his voice low and pointed. "You suddenly want to get involved in family business. What exactly are you after?"

I blinked, the picture of innocence. "Marcus, I'm just trying to get a handle on my own assets. There’s no need to label me like that, is there?"

He didn't answer. He just watched me for a long moment. Then his hand shot out and closed around my throat, not hard enough to cut off air, but not gentle either.

"You never cared about this stuff before."

"But I'm going to be the Donna. Getting it straight seems like the responsible thing to do, for the family."

He let go. His thumb brushed over the red mark he'd left on my neck, as though he'd just noticed how much force he'd used. He didn't apologize.

"None of this matters. Stay home, rest, and don’t stir up any trouble for me."

That afternoon, Vivian came. Where Selena played fragile and tearful, Vivian cut straight to it.

"Anna, don't try to get word out behind our backs."

My fingers went still.

Vivian sat down across from me and pulled out her phone, scrolling to a page, and there it was: the email I'd sent to my father's contact. I'd taken every precaution, used an anonymous account with an address that had no connection to me whatsoever. It hadn't mattered.

"Don't think we don't know what you're doing." She slid the phone across the coffee table toward me. "We're not trying to cut you off from the outside world. But the family is in crisis, and outside interference only puts everyone at risk."

That was exactly how it had gone last time. They'd severed every thread connecting me to the world, and by the time I was thrown out of the estate, my father hadn't heard a word from me in months.

"Vivian, you're efficient. I'll give you that."

"I'm looking out for you." She was already at the door. She glanced back once. "Anna, stay out of family business."

Then she was gone.

I stared at the email on the table, and a chill moved through me.

Ryan came out from the adjoining room, jaw tight. "That was my fault. I failed you."

"It's not your fault." I closed my eyes.

Last time I'd thought they only started moving against me after the funeral. But they'd been ready long before that. From the moment those alliance papers landed on the table, they’d been plotting against me.