I woke up from a nightmare, and I was back. Back in the year the Falcone family went to war with the Morozovs for the shipping lanes.

I was the Donna of the Falcone family. The woman they all envied. And the first thing I did?

I got rid of the baby in my belly. My husband's child. Don Enzo's.

Because in my last life, on the day I gave birth, Enzo held up a baby with blue eyes. His own eyes were blazing. "How dare you sleep with a Morozov," he snarled, "and birth their blue-eyed bastard!"

The family sentenced me to death. They threw me in a cell.

I didn't learn the truth until the very end. That baby belonged to Eliana—Enzo's first love.

She was the one sleeping with our sworn enemy. The Morozovs.

And Enzo? He stole my rightful heir and swapped him for her bastard.

They made me the family traitor. And left my body to rot in a cold, damp cell.

And my own son—his mind twisted by that bitch—stood over my corpse and cursed my name.

When I opened my eyes again, I was three months pregnant.

I didn't hesitate. I walked into a clinic and ended it.

Before I left, I took a different kind of shot. High-grade hormones, straight from the black market.

It fakes the signs of pregnancy. Fools even the best blood tests.

Enzo needed a baby to cover for Eliana's sins.

Fine. Let's play.

My husband, Don Enzo, swapped our son for his precious Eliana’s, then had me killed. I woke up in the past. Found a clinic. Ended the pregnancy.

I walked out of that clinic clutching the vial of hormones that would sell the lie.

The pain from the abortion was nothing.

Not compared to the cold in my heart when Enzo shoved that custom dagger—the one with my name on it—straight through my chest.

My heart was a block of ice. Sadness was a luxury I couldn't afford.

The son that should have been his was gone. Forever.

I drove my Maserati back to the Falcone estate.

Her voice dripped with honey before I even cut the engine.

"Enzo, you're so sweet."

I stepped out, and the sight turned my blood to ice.

My husband. Don Enzo. In front of his prized car, holding Eliana like she was a porcelain doll.

And her, in that Dior dress, arms snaked around his neck.

Pathetic. I was his wife, the Donna, and I had to watch him protect her.

The crunch of my heels on the gravel made their heads snap around.

For a split second, I saw the victory in her eyes.

Then she buried it under a look of wide-eyed surprise.

“Marcella! You’re back!”

Her voice made my stomach turn.

I walked toward them, my hand resting protectively on my still-flat stomach.

The hormones were already at work, selling the lie. I was every bit the woman carrying the family heir.

“Good afternoon, Enzo. Eliana,” I said, my voice flat.

Eliana snuggled deeper into Enzo’s arms, her eyes glued to me.

“Marcella, look!” she shrieked, pointing to the backseat. “Enzo bought me a custom Fendi stroller! There are only five in the world!”

I glanced over. The thing was obscenely expensive.

“It has the latest bulletproof weave,” Eliana bragged. “Not even a Morozov slug can get through it. Enzo says he wants the best protection for my baby.”

The best protection.

I could almost smell the gunpowder from my last life. The scent of betrayal.

Eliana had returned shortly after I found out I was pregnant. Heartbroken from a so-called “unhappy” marriage.

Enzo told me he just felt sorry for her. Childhood friends. He had to take care of her.

I believed him. I even shared my expensive prenatal supplements with her.

I had no idea it was all a setup. They had been planning this from the start.

“Enzo is such a good husband,” Eliana cooed. “Aren’t you lucky to have him, Marcella?”

A good husband. The words almost made me choke.

In my last life, Eliana and I were rushed to the hospital around the same time.

They said the baby I delivered had ice-blue eyes—the unmistakable mark of the Morozov bloodline. In our entire family, in our entire part of the world, eyes of that color were an impossibility.

During a war when contact with the Morozovs was forbidden, it was a death sentence. A clear sign of a traitor.

I remember screaming my innocence, begging Enzo—my husband—to look me in the eyes and see the truth. He wouldn't meet my gaze.

He just threw down the surveillance photos, the cold images projecting my so-called "treason" for the whole family to see.

“How could you?” he’d asked, his voice dripping with disgust, and every word was a shard of glass in my heart.

The photos showed me meeting a Morozov in secret, plotting.

With the war raging, the family found me guilty. I was thrown into a damp, concrete cell.

They shot me up with tranquilizers every day, crushing my will until I couldn't even fight back.

I even started to wonder if I’d been kidnapped, if I’d been violated without knowing it.

Three years later, Enzo was crowned head of the Chicago Commission.

He came to my cell, saying he was ready to forgive his “errant wife.”

He brought me back to the estate, where I overheard Eliana talking to my son.

The child with Morozov blood was hers.

And my own son was complaining about how weak I’d become, wishing I would just die already.

When I exposed their plot, I tried to run—to get word to the Commission in New York. But I was caught.

Enzo threw me back in that cell. This time, he ended my life himself. With one thrust of his knife.

The pain of that memory pulled me back to the present. I stared at the two lovers.

“Enzo,” my voice was ice. “A Don playing chauffeur instead of running his turf?”

Enzo’s brow furrowed. “Watch your tone, Marcella.”

“I’m just worried about the family’s future,” I said with a shrug. “We lost ground on the St. Lawrence Seaway last time. This war will be bloodier. Everyone should be doing their part.”

Eliana flinched in his arms, putting on a show of being scared. “Marcella, I haven’t been feeling well. Enzo was just worried about the baby…”

“Of course,” I nodded. “The heir is all that matters.”

Enzo gave me a long, hard look. “And stop with the cheap drugstore vitamins,” he warned, his voice low. “They’re not good enough for a Falcone heir.”

He wasn't worried about me. He was worried I’d mess up his plan.

I nodded, feigning obedience.

I waited until I was back in my suite. Then I dry-swallowed another handful of hormone pills.

There was no baby.

Not anymore.

“I’m moving to the villa on Lake Michigan.”

I made the announcement at the breakfast table.

Enzo froze, his knife hovering mid-air. His brow furrowed—the first sign of the Don’s displeasure.

“Why? The estate has the best security, the best private doctors.”

“My nerves are shot,” I said, letting my voice tremble just enough. “The noise… Eliana’s parties… I’m worried it’s not good for the baby.”

The word ‘baby’ changed everything.

It was the most important piece of his plan—the scapegoat.

“Fine,” he said, his tone softening. He even put his hand on mine in a fake show of affection. “You’re the Donna. You need absolute quiet. I’ll send a security detail with you.”

He was lying.

I saw the relief in his eyes.

Sending me away meant he could be with Eliana without interruption.

I moved into the lake house.

It was remote, surrounded by a thick forest. The perfect hiding spot. And the perfect battlefield.

I ordered the security team to install military-grade signal jammers around the property.

The excuse: the pregnancy made me sensitive to electromagnetic waves.

The truth: I needed to cover my digital tracks.

They called me ‘The Ghost’ once. A whisper in the digital underworld. My father didn't spend a fortune on my training in Israel for me to become some Don’s trophy wife.

The Ghost wasn't dead. She was just sleeping.

The next few months were a ridiculous one-woman show.

Enzo visited every two weeks, playing the part of the ‘devoted husband.’

But his gifts gave him away.

For me, it was cheap vitamins from a corner store.

For her, I saw on the family’s hidden ledgers, it was millions.

Enough to buy a small arsenal.

Its destination? A secret Swiss account belonging to Eliana, of course.

It was clear. Just like last time.

Eliana was having severe complications with her pregnancy. She was weakening fast.

Without a top medical team and an endless flow of cash to keep her alive, neither she nor that bastard child would make it to term.

Staring at the massive expenses on the screen, I remembered my last life.

I was bleeding out from a gunshot wound, begging him to approve the funds for a life-saving surgery.

What did he say then?

“That’s the family’s strategic fund. It can’t be wasted on a woman who might be a traitor.”

And now, he was throwing it all at the woman carrying the enemy’s bastard.

I finished my last set of pull-ups, a bitter smirk on my face.

Sweat dripped from my chin. Muscle burned. Power flooded my veins.

“Donna, you’ve been looking radiant lately,” said the family’s private doctor, my cousin Dr. Rossi, during a routine check-up.

He was a careful man with sharp eyes.

“Thank you,” I replied coolly.

Dr. Rossi hesitated, then lowered his voice. “I saw the Don... he took Eliana to a specialist in New York. Again. The family is whispering, Marcella. They’re saying she’s the one carrying the real heir, and that you…”

He trailed off, his eyes full of pity.

“Marcella, your father was very good to me. I only trust what I can see. If you ever need my help, I will always be on your side.”

He thought I was the poor, clueless wife.

I rose from the sofa, pulling a silk robe over the hard curve of the fake belly.

“Let them talk, cousin,” I said, picking up a glass of water. “Enzo is the Don. He knows what he’s doing. As long as my child is born safely, I’m content.”

Dr. Rossi looked like he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue.

If he knew what I was really thinking, he would have a heart attack.

I didn’t care about Enzo and Eliana.

In fact, his obsession with her was my shield. It kept his paranoid, controlling eyes off me.

Otherwise, even with the hormone shots and the fake belly I wore every day, he might have seen through the whole charade.

Six months flew by.

As my ‘due date’ approached, Eliana was clearly getting desperate.

That night, the villa door was thrown open.

Enzo burst in, soaked from the rain, his face pale.

He was in a hurry.

My informant had told me Eliana’s water broke an hour ago.

That Morozov bastard was tearing her apart from the inside, and the pain was killing her.

Enzo needed my ‘baby’ to swap with hers. Now.

“Marcella!” Enzo strode into the bedroom, a crystal glass in his hand.

The liquid inside was a strange, deep purple, and it gave off a chemical chill.

“Darling, I know you haven’t been feeling well,” he said, his voice trembling, trying to sound concerned.

“Drink this,” he pushed the glass toward me. “It’s for the baby. To make him strong. A true Falcone.”

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him.

I knew it wasn’t some vintage wine.

It was a powerful inducing agent, mixed with a sedative that would blur my memory after birth.

It would force violent contractions and leave a woman disoriented afterward—a puppet in his hands.

Last time, I drank it.

I passed out on the delivery table, letting him swap my son.

“It’s for the good of the heir, right?” I asked, taking the glass, my fingers tracing its cold rim.

Enzo swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the glass. “Yes. For our heir. Drink it. Be a good girl.”

He was terrified.

If I didn't ‘deliver’ tonight, his precious Eliana would be executed for birthing an enemy’s child.

I brought the glass to my lips.

The acrid, chemical smell filled my nose.

For a second, I saw the flicker of cruel anticipation in his eyes.

“Enzo,” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “Are you sure this is for our son?”

Enzo’s pupils contracted.

The hand holding the glass gave a nearly invisible tremor.

He covered it quickly, his fear replaced by an offended rage.

“Marcella, what is that look?” he snarled, using his Don’s authority to mask his guilt. “I am your husband! Your Don! Would I hurt you? Would I hurt my own son?”

A laugh died in my throat. Husband. The man who’d put a dagger with my name on it straight through my heart.

The one who hurt me most was never my enemy. It was you, Enzo.

But I didn’t call him on it.

I knew the drug wouldn’t cause permanent harm to a healthy woman.

It would just trigger violent muscle spasms.

Time to put on a show.

“Of course not,” I said softly. “I’m just nervous.”

I met his gaze over the rim of the glass.

A silent toast to the fool who thought he was in control.

Then I tipped my head back and drained the bitter liquid.

Enzo let out a breath, a savage look of triumph in his eyes. He thought he’d won.

The drug hit faster than I expected.

Five minutes later, a vicious cramp seized my abdomen.

The pain was real. Cold sweat soaked through my silk nightgown.

I collapsed onto the sofa with a pained groan. “Ah… it hurts…”

Just then, the color drained from Enzo’s face.

He took a call, and his expression turned to one of pure panic.

“Dammit! Eliana’s in labor, too!”

He roared in frustration, completely forgetting about me writhing in ‘pain,’ and turned to grab his car keys.

The rain fell in black sheets. Enzo’s armored Cadillac fishtailed out of the driveway.

He’d picked up Eliana. She was in the back, soaked and shivering.

Her screams nearly shattered the bulletproof windows.

“Enzo! Help me! Something is clawing at me from the inside!” She dug her nails deep into his arm. “It hurts! Our baby… we’re going to die!”

“Shh, Eliana, shh!” Enzo yelled, one hand on the wheel as he turned to soothe her, his eyes filled with heartbreak. “I’m here! I swear, I would trade my life for yours and the baby’s!”

And what about me?

Curled in the corner of the backseat, I played my part, pale and pained. He never even looked at me.

I was just cargo.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the family’s private hospital.

A medical team was already waiting.

“Her! Get her first!” Enzo roared, shoving past a nurse who reached for me. “She’s critical!” He swept Eliana into his arms and charged for the emergency entrance.

As Enzo carried her inside, she glanced over his shoulder. Her lips curled into a smirk. Victory.

I was left alone in the downpour, rain mixing with the cold sweat on my face.

A few minutes later, two intern nurses finally rushed out with a wheelchair. “Donna, hang on!”

I was pushed into a delivery room.

The moment the door slammed shut, the grimace of pain fell from my face.

Standing before the operating table was my doctor—my cousin, Dr. Rossi.

He had already sent everyone else away, leaving only his two most trusted nurses.

Our eyes met.

Dr. Rossi looked at my huge silicone belly, his expression a mix of awe and terror.

He gave a silent, firm nod.

Everything was ready.

Time ticked by.

The thunder outside masked all the dirty deeds happening within.

Hours later, in the dead of night.

My hospital room was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor.

I lay in bed, eyes closed, breathing evenly, as if I’d passed out from a ‘difficult birth.’

But every muscle in my body was tense, my senses on high alert.

The lock clicked. Someone slipped inside.

The footsteps were light and hesitant, full of guilt, as they approached my bed.

It was Enzo.

He was holding a tightly wrapped baby basket.

Enzo held his breath, tiptoeing to my bedside.

His hands trembled as he prepared to swap this baby for the ‘pure-blooded heir’ that never existed.

He leaned down, the baby’s face just inches from my neck.

And in that moment…

My eyes snapped open. In the dim light, they locked onto his. Cold. Sharp. Pinning him in place.

My voice cut through the silence, cold as the grave.

“Lost something, Enzo?”