Reborn from Blood

A Reborn from Blood

: Reborn from Blood, No Longer Your Shadow

Thick crimson blood spread across the cold, concrete floor of the abandoned warehouse, soaking through a dress whose original color was now completely unrecognizable. My trembling hands pressed desperately against my heavily swollen belly, trying to protect the fragile, seven-month-old life inside.

But the tearing agony in my lower abdomen, accompanied by the rapid loss of warmth pooling beneath me, ruthlessly declared that it was already too late.

Gunfire echoed deafeningly around me. My vision had long since blurred, yet my pupils remained fixated on the only thing that mattered—the man standing ten paces away.

Lorenzo Romano.

The most ruthless and cold-blooded Mafia Don in Chicago's underground. The man I had loved for ten whole years. My husband.

At this moment, he was using his broad, sturdy back to firmly shield a trembling woman beneath him. Even amidst the hail of bullets, his every movement exuded endless tenderness and frantic anxiety.

That woman was not me. It was Elena—the illegitimate daughter of a rival family, Lorenzo’s first love and the unspoken white rose hidden deep in his heart for years.

When the shootout erupted, I had desperately reached out to him. But Lorenzo hadn't even spared me a sideways glance. Without a moment’s hesitation, he bypassed his heavily pregnant wife, lunged toward Elena, and pulled her into safe cover. I, on the other hand, was left completely exposed in the enemy's deadly crossfire.

"Lorenzo..." I coughed up a large mouthful of blood mixed with ruptured organs, my voice shattering into pieces. "Our... our baby..."

He didn't look back. He was cupping Elena's face, asking in a voice filled with fear and panic—a tone I had never, ever heard him use: "Are you hurt, Elena? Look at me. Don't be afraid."

A suffocating hollow sensation ripped through my heart, aching far more intensely than the bullet holes in my stomach.

For three entire years, I had been the perfect Mafia wife. I took assassination bullets for him, smoothed over the difficulties caused by the family elders, and even betrayed my mother's family—the Moretti family—by handing over the largest arms smuggling port on the East Coast, all just to secure his throne as the Don.

I foolishly believed that as long as I gave enough, this block of ice would eventually be warmed.

What a massive, pathetic joke.

I gave everything for him, yet he stood by and watched me and our unborn child die a gruesome death, all for another woman.

My vision finally plunged into total darkness. The despairing cry of my unborn child seemed to echo endlessly in my mind. In the very second my heart stopped beating, a thought fueled by boundless, bone-deep hatred etched itself into my soul:

*If there is a next life, I would rather rot in hell than love you even a fraction of an inch again!*

...

*Gasp—!*

My eyes snapped open, and I jolted up from the vanity chair, greedily sucking in mouthfuls of air like a drowning person. My hands flew frantically to my stomach, but instead of finding bullet holes, they met smooth, firm skin and the silky touch of fabric.

I froze, slowly lifting my head to look into the vanity mirror before me.

The mirror reflected a woman with striking features and sharp, piercing eyes. She was dressed in a deep red evening gown, the color of fresh blood. Her raven hair was perfectly pinned up, and her entire demeanor radiated the haughty, cold elegance of a top-tier Mafia heiress.

I didn't die in that dark warehouse.

My gaze darted to the grandfather clock in the corner of the bedroom, then to the calendar on the desk—October 14th.

My breath caught in my throat. I remembered this day vividly. It was the annual national Mafia Syndicate Gala. More importantly, it was exactly two years before I died in that warehouse!

I... had been reborn.

A trembling laugh, laced with both bitterness and wild ecstasy, escaped my lips. My eyes turned bloodshot. God had actually given me a second chance. The phantom pain still lingering in my abdomen was the brutal price paid by the foolish Isabella of the past.

*Knock, knock, knock.*

Two impatient taps sounded against the door.

"Isabella." A low, profoundly oppressive male voice rang out from the hallway. "The car is waiting. Tonight’s gala is crucial. I expect no mistakes from you."

Lorenzo.

Just hearing his name sent my blood plunging into an icy abyss. A visceral wave of disgust and intense hatred shot straight to my brain.

In my past life on this exact day, the moment I heard his voice, I would have instantly tucked away all my sharp edges, put on a gentle, pleasing smile, linked my arm through his, and willingly played the role of the silent, obedient shadow behind him.

Because tonight was the night Lorenzo planned to announce to the entire national Mafia that he was fully absorbing the Moretti family's arms port into the Romano syndicate. In my previous life, not only did I not object, but I thought it was a proof of my love, personally handing over my final trump card to this ungrateful bastard.

I reached up and wiped away the residual tears from the corners of my eyes. Expressionless, I picked up a dark red lipstick from the vanity and traced a sharp, ruthless curve over my lips.

The woman in the mirror no longer held a trace of that humble, desperate-to-please aura. In its place was the sheer ruthlessness that the sole legitimate heir of the Moretti family rightfully possessed.

*Lorenzo, you want my mother's power? Dream on.*

***

Inside the penthouse banquet hall of the InterContinental Hotel, crystal chandeliers refracted luxurious light. The massive mahogany round table was surrounded by the Dons and high-ranking executives of major Mafia families from across the country.

I sat to Lorenzo’s right. He was still as breathtakingly handsome as I remembered—a jawline carved from marble, deep ash-grey eyes resembling an abyss, and the commanding aura of a supreme predator. But now, looking at that face, my heart held nothing but dead silence.

Sitting at the far edge of the round table was Elena, dressed in a pure white gown. She attended as a so-called "guest of a neutral family." Her weak, innocent appearance was entirely out of place among this pack of bloodthirsty wolves. I watched coldly as Lorenzo's gaze drifted toward her every few minutes, completely incapable of restraining himself, terrified that she might feel the slightest bit wronged.

In my past life, I swallowed this public humiliation and forced a smile just to save his face. But today?

Lorenzo stood up and raised his tumbler of whiskey. The noisy banquet hall instantly fell dead silent.

"Gentlemen," Lorenzo’s voice was deep and filled with authority. "Tonight, the Romano family enters a new era. As you all know, the Moretti family's arms port has always operated independently. But starting tonight, I will take over all shipping lines and dispatch control of the Moretti family. This merger will cement our absolute dominance on the East Coast."

He didn't even spare me a glance. His tone was a matter-of-fact absolute. He fully expected me to sit there like a well-trained dog and silently consent to his usurpation of power.

The surrounding Dons began exchanging knowing smiles, raising their glasses in preparation for a toast.

"I object."

My voice wasn't loud, but it struck like a thunderbolt, instantly exploding across the banquet hall.

The air froze. Dozens of glasses halted mid-air, and dozens of pairs of eyes, filled with shock and scrutiny, snapped toward me.

Lorenzo stiffened violently, his brows knitting tightly together. He slowly turned his head, a storm of warning brewing in those grey eyes. "Isabella, what are you doing? This matter has already been decided."

"It was decided by you and your underlings, Lorenzo. You never once sought my consent." I stood up unhurriedly, my red gown cascading like a blooming spider lily. I stared straight into his oppressive eyes without a shred of retreat.

"The Moretti port runs on the blood of my mother’s family." I raised my voice, ensuring every boss at the table heard me clearly. "I am the sole legitimate heir to the Moretti family. I hereby announce that the Moretti family will retain absolute independence. From tonight onward, control of all arms routes will be personally taken over by me."

A collective gasp echoed through the room.

A Mafia wife daring to publicly veto a Don's decision at the highest-level round table? This wasn't just a loss of face; it was a resounding, vicious slap across Lorenzo's cheek!

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened so hard his muscles twitched. He stared at me in disbelief, looking as if he didn't recognize the sharp-edged woman standing before him. He took a step closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous, teeth-gritting whisper meant only for me:

"Enough, Isabella. Sit down and shut your mouth. Do not embarrass us here."

I tilted my head slightly, looking at him as if he were a complete stranger, a mocking sneer curving my lips.

"I am not throwing a tantrum, Don Romano. I am making a business declaration." I took a direct step back, putting distance between us.

At that moment, Elena, sitting across the table, seemed to sense the volatile tension. She quickly stood up, speaking in a fragile, reprimanding tone: "Miss Isabella, please don't be like this... Lorenzo is only doing this for the good of the family. Making him lose face in public like this is too unreasonable..."

My gaze instantly shot toward her like a poisoned dagger.

The white dress, the innocent face—this was the exact woman who had killed my child.

"Who gave you the right to speak here?" I sneered coldly, releasing the full, crushing aura of a noble heiress without holding back. "An illegitimate daughter being allowed to sit in this room is already a divine blessing. Dare to speak out of turn one more time, and I will have your tongue ripped out right now."

Elena's face instantly turned ghastly pale. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes as she shrank back, looking pitiful and terrified.

"Isabella! That's enough!" Seeing his beloved wronged, Lorenzo erupted in fury, slamming his hand violently onto the table. "Apologize to her! Now!"

"In your dreams."

I rebuked him mercilessly, casually picking up my velvet clutch from the table.

"I, Isabella Moretti, bow to absolutely no one. Lorenzo, you want my guns and artillery? Fine. Pay the market price. Tell your accountant to line up outside my office tomorrow morning."

With that, I didn't give him a single chance to retort. I turned on my heel crisply, my stilettos clicking sharply against the marble floor as I strode toward the luxurious double doors of the banquet hall.

The entire hall was dead silent, save for the crisp rhythm of my footsteps.

I could feel Lorenzo's gaze—filled with shock, sheer fury, and utter disbelief—nailing into my back like a branding iron.

*Watch closely, Lorenzo.*

As I pushed open the heavy doors and the night breeze brushed against my face, a bloodthirsty smirk curled on my lips.

*The game has only just begun.*

A Reborn from Blood