Chicago’s most feared woman, Seraphina Marino—the “Black Widow”—demanded to marry my stepbrother, Finn Kovac.

They called her the Black Widow for a reason; every man she married wound up dead.

Finn was terrified, so I pulled him into a corner and proposed a bargain.

I offered to take his place. My price? He had to guard my father's grave at the abandoned St. Mary's Church for three years. And under no circumstances was he to open the secret chamber in the crypt.

Believing the chamber held the legendary secret ledgers of the Five Families—and the endless wealth they promised—he agreed without a second thought.

The greed etched on his face was so blatant I had to hide a sneer.

He’d better be ready. I couldn't wait to see his face when he found the special gift I'd left for him.

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1

"I'm sorry, Julian," my stepmother, Carmela Kovac, said, her voice trembling. "But we have no choice. We can't afford to offend the Marino family."

She pressed a lace handkerchief to her eye, feigning heartbreak. The sight of her crocodile tears made my stomach churn.

In Chicago, everyone knew who Seraphina Marino was—she was the queen of the city's underworld. A car bomb had shattered her legs six months ago. Since then, she’d become even colder, more bloodthirsty—a walking nightmare.

And the man she wanted was the heir to the Kovac family, Finn Kovac.

But now, I was the one being forced to take Finn's place.

I was the adopted son, the disposable substitute.

Finn stood off to the side, a smug sneer he didn't bother to hide.

The family lawyer’s voice broke the silence. "Mr. Valeriano, once you seal this contract with your thumbprint in blood, you will officially become Ms. Marino's husband. As compensation, the Kovac family will transfer a considerable sum to you."

I lifted my head and stared at the three vile faces before me. The scene felt hauntingly familiar.

In my last life, I’d clenched my fists, demanding through tears of rage what gave them the right. All I got in return were Carmela’s sharp, ice-cold words.

"You should get on your knees and thank us, you useless trash! Becoming Seraphina's husband is the greatest honor of your pathetic life. Don't you dare act like you're too good for it!"

After that, they drugged me and sent me to Seraphina's estate, where she treated me like a dog.

Only later did I learn the truth. Seraphina only wanted to marry Finn because she suspected the Kovacs were the masterminds behind the car bomb that killed her parents.

She planned to marry her enemy's son, torture him, and draw out the real culprit.

But the Kovac family couldn't bear to sacrifice their own flesh and blood. So they sent me, the substitute.

Seraphina's plan was ruined, and all her pent-up fury was unleashed on me.

In that grim, luxurious hall, she’d lifted my chin with the tip of her dagger, her gaze so cold it stole the air from my lungs.

"Did Carmela send you to humiliate me?" she spat. "Tell her—the game has just begun."

I died during my second winter as Seraphina's husband. By then, I had lost my mind. On a snowy night, I fled the estate and was gunned down in a street shootout.

My soul floated in the air, watching as Seraphina stood over my body for a long, long time. There was no thrill of revenge on her face, only a profound, repressed sorrow.

Meanwhile, the Kovac family, using the vast empire they had stolen from my father, lorded over Chicago.

It was that overwhelming hatred that allowed me to be reborn. Reborn to this very day, as they tried to force my bloody thumbprint onto the contract.

"Fine," I said, my voice steady. "I agree."

I picked up the small knife from the table, sliced my thumb without emotion, and pressed the bloody print onto the document.

The three of them froze, staring at me in disbelief. They had clearly expected me to struggle, to break down and beg for mercy.

Carmela blinked, her surprise quickly morphing into cold satisfaction. The practiced smile on my stepfather Silas Kovac's face stretched into a smug grin.

Only Finn looked unsettled, the smugness on his face slowly souring into suspicion.

After pressing my print, I stood up and turned to him.

"A deal's a deal. You'll go to the abandoned church outside the city and guard my father's grave for three years. Don't forget."

"What's the catch?" he demanded, taking a step back.

I offered a faint smile. "Haven't you always wondered how my so-called destitute father could have left me that abandoned church?"

Finn's pupils constricted. That had always bothered him.

My biological father, Nico Valeriano, was a legendary Don in the Chicago underworld before his untimely death. Carmela stole everything he left behind, telling everyone he was a nobody and I was just some bastard she’d found on the street.

Only that dilapidated church remained in my name.

She thought the church was worthless. It was only later, when rumors of secret tunnels beneath it began to circulate, that she was filled with regret.

I leaned in close, my voice a conspiratorial whisper in Finn's ear. "The truth is, my papa was no ordinary man. He was the Don of the Valeriano family. And that secret chamber buried beneath his grave? It holds something that would drive the entire Chicago underworld mad—the secret ledgers of the Five Families. Endless wealth. Absolute power."

"Secret ledgers?" Finn's breathing hitched.

"The problem is..." I paused, sighing with feigned disappointment. "They're locked behind a bloodline seal. You know my papa—he was old-school. Before he died, he decreed that his resting place must not be disturbed unless a direct blood relative guards his grave for three years. Otherwise, the seal will backfire and destroy everything inside."

A glint of avarice flashed in Finn's eyes.

Guard a dead man's grave for three years to gain the power to rule Chicago.

He looked at me as if I were the biggest fool in the world. I was sitting on a gold mine and practically handing it to him on a platter.

I lowered my eyes, my voice soft. "I'm about to marry Seraphina. Who knows what will happen to me in the Marino family?"

My tone grew heavy. "It's not safe for me to hold onto that legacy. We're brothers... so consider it my wedding gift to you."

The last of his caution vanished, replaced by pure, unadulterated greed.

"Don't worry, Julian," he said, patting my shoulder with false sincerity. "I'll take good care of those ledgers for you. And when you get to the Marino estate... learn to endure."

That afternoon, Finn took a few of his men and headed for the abandoned church, claiming he was going to guard my father's grave.

Carmela and Silas were confused but couldn't change his mind, so they let him go. After all, what could possibly be valuable in a crypt in some remote church?

I stood at an upstairs window, watching Finn's car disappear down the road, a cold smile playing on my lips.

There was indeed something in that safe—but not secret ledgers.

It was proof of my Valeriano identity and the evidence my father had left behind—proof that Carmela had ordered the hit that killed him.

In my last life, I had almost gotten my hands on it. But before I could act, they had forced me to become Seraphina's husband, and my plan for revenge had fallen apart.

This time, I would let that fool guard the evidence for me.

Once I had Seraphina on my side, I would bring the whole truth to light.

A week later, the marriage contract took effect. The Marino family sent a car to collect me.

The butler opened the car door and gestured for me to enter, his expression like a stone effigy.

"Donna Seraphina is waiting for you in the upstairs study."

I gave a curt nod and followed him inside.

The first time I came here, my palms were sweating, every step like walking on thin ice. But this time, striding down the familiar hallway, my heart was as calm as a frozen lake.

The study door opened. And there she was—Seraphina.

She was dressed in a perfectly tailored black silk robe, seated in a wheelchair with a soft cashmere blanket covering her legs.

Sunlight streamed through the tall, stained-glass windows, but none of its warmth could touch the frost in her eyes.

"So, you're the replacement Carmela sent?" she asked, her voice sharp and clipped.

"Yes," I replied calmly.

She finally deigned to look at me, her gaze filled with undisguised contempt.

"I know you're just the substitute," she said. "I thought she'd send her precious son."

I simply met her gaze, saying nothing.

Her weakness, her injuries—it was all an act.

In my last life, I had been completely deceived by her performance. I thought she was a broken, pitiable woman. I tried to treat her with kindness, believing it could melt her cold exterior.

My reward was a humiliation more brutal than I could have imagined.

Outside the door, several heavily armed bodyguards watched me, their expressions cold, as if looking at a dead man. A dagger had materialized in Seraphina's hand, its blade gleaming.

"Get out," she gestured dismissively with the dagger. "Get out of my sight. The very sight of you disgusts me."

That was our wedding night.

Exactly the same as in my last life.

But this time, I didn't panic. I met her icy gaze head-on, unflinching.

I didn't retreat, nor did I speak. I simply watched her, as if studying a masterpiece of cold fury.

My composure enraged her. "You're not afraid of me?"

To her, a pawn sent for slaughter had no right to look so composed. My calm was a silent provocation.

Then, I heard the soft whisper of the cashmere blanket sliding to the floor.

She gripped the armrests of the wheelchair, her body tensing. Then, with a groan of sheer effort, she surged to her feet.

The frail, sickly facade she wore was torn away by her own hands.

Faced with her imposing figure, I felt a suffocating pressure.

As she strode toward me, I instinctively took a step back.

"Who gave you the nerve to look at me like that?"

Before the words faded, her hand shot out like a viper and clamped around my throat.

The air was cut off, my face flushing. I was forced to crane my neck, meeting her murderous eyes.

"What new game is Carmela playing this time?" she snarled, her warm breath ghosting across my face.

The agony of suffocation was blinding, but I knew this was my only chance. Begging would only earn me more of her contempt.

With all my strength, I squeezed out a few broken words. "Donna Seraphina… your legs… they healed… six months ago… didn't they?"

The moment the words left my lips, the hand on my throat froze.

The fury in her eyes dissolved, first into shock, then into a colder, more dangerous stillness.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

She didn't let go. Her grip tightened. My vision began to swim in black spots.

But I knew I’d made the right gamble.

A moment later, she shoved me back.

I collapsed against the doorframe, coughing violently and gasping for air like a drowning man surfacing.

Seraphina sank back into her wheelchair. For a moment, the woman who had stood before me seemed like a phantom.

She was still staring at me, but the raw killing intent had been replaced by suspicion and a sharp curiosity.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I know a lot more than that," I rasped, my throat raw.

I slowly pushed myself up, looking her straight in the eye.

"I know you're faking your disability to lull your true enemy into a false sense of security. And I know that enemy is Carmela. The woman who sent me to you."