Isabella's Perspective

Dr. Rossi stared at the barely breathing boy on the stainless steel operating table, then looked at me with his greedy eyes. "No cash of a hundred thousand dollars, I won't treat you, sweetie. This isn't charity."

I didn't even blink. Although I didn't have a single dollar on me now, I held a stake far deadlier than cash.

"I don't have cash," I said, my voice flat and devoid of emotion, "but I have information that can save you from spending the rest of your life in a federal prison. Tonight, the FBI will raid the underground casino on Eighth Street. The undercover agent's name is Miller, code-named 'Snake.' He will meet his handler at the docks at exactly midnight."

Rosy turned deathly pale, the color draining from his face instantly. Under the mixed shock and awe in Rosy's eyes, I pushed the massive assistant, who was as tall as a hill. The hands that had once only played Chopin for the elite of the mafia had now become the most composed wings of salvation. Relying on the first aid skills honed in that dark world in the past, I drained the oppressive fluid from Angela's chest with astonishing precision. With a soft sigh, his violently ups and downs chest miraculously calmed down, turning into long and regular breaths.

Rossi watched me from the side, filled with fear, yet utterly fascinated by the monster I had transformed into. "You can stay," he muttered, stepping back.

Hours later, as I held my sleeping son in that blood-stained back room, I knew clearly what was happening in Chicago, three hundred miles away. Memories of my past life replayed in my mind with repulsive clarity.

At this very moment, in the glass-top apartment of the "Lucree" building, my fate is being nailed to the gallows. My grandfather, known as "The General" Marco Moretti, is bowing to Lorenzo Farcone. To save me from the carefully woven slander of the mistress of the Farcone family, my grandfather is being forced to give up control of our family over the Chicago port.

I can almost hear Lorenzo's smooth, aristocratic voice. He casually tosses an antique coin while looking at Damián Valentín, standing by his side with a heart of ashes.

"To solidify your marriage with Miss Ricci, the Moretti family has surrendered the port," Lorenzo probes the new godfather. "In exchange, I declare your marriage to Isabella Moretti null and void. Damián, how do you feel about this deal?"

And Damien, without the slightest hesitation, coldly replied: "My wife is only Seraphina Rich."

"You won't regret it?"

"Never."

With just one word, Damien stripped me of all the protection of the Valenti family and threw me into the wolves. He discarded us like garbage. But he didn't know that the woman he threw away had already crawled back from hell.

A week later, the pungent dust from the Gary limestone quarry filled my throat.

I swung the heavy iron hammer, the violent impact vibrating through my arms. My hands were already raw, blood seeping into the rough canvas gloves. I needed clean cash to buy antibiotics for Angelo, and I also needed this cruel, almost self-abusive heavy labor, to forge this body into a weapon.

In the white dust haze, a fleet of black Cadillac Carlyle cars stopped at the edge of this desolate mine pit.

I didn't stop what I was doing.

Maria, the most loyal servant of our family, stumbled down from the carriage, flanked by heavily armed Moretti family soldiers. She spent days navigating the dirty streets, bribing bartenders and informants, just to find her former Mafia queen moving stones in this wasteland.

"Miss!" Maria's voice broke into heart-wrenching sobs. She ran through the mud to kneel before me, completely unconcerned about the mud staining her spotless dress. "Oh, God, Miss Isabella... look at what you've suffered. We're coming to take you home."

I slowly lowered the iron hammer, took off my gloves, and wrapped the bleeding palm with a dirty cloth carelessly. My eyes were like a pool of stagnant water, without the shock or relief she expected.

I know they will come today. But in my previous life, they were a whole week late. By the time they arrived, they only just managed to buy a small wooden coffin for Angelo.

"I know, Maria," I said calmly, my gaze passing over her weeping figure as I looked toward the armored vehicles waiting to take us back to Chicago. "Could you help me pack the children's luggage?"

Isabella's perspective

Maria carefully took Angelo's meager few pieces of clothing, her hands still trembling, and wiped the mine dust from my son's pale little face.

Before we could even approach the waiting convoy, a sharp, sarcastic voice pierced the oppressive silence.

"What a tragedy, Miss Isabella."

I turned around and saw my aunt's personal maid, Carla, standing beside the armored vehicle. She was wearing a brand-new, crisp wool coat, and her gaze swept over my mud-covered clothes, causing her to wrinkle her nose in disgust. She was Old Lady Moretti's mouthpiece, sent here to make me clearly aware of just how badly I had fallen.

"The general surrendered the Port of Chicago for you," Kara continued with feigned pity. "What a heavy price to pay for a wife who was abandoned. We've prepared seats for you and the young master in the cars in the middle of the convoy. That... is more in line with your current status."

She curled her lips into a cruel and triumphant smile, waiting to see me lower my head in shame.

I didn't blink, nor did I argue. I simply gripped Angelo's small hand and walked straight past her, my boots crunching on the gravel. I bypassed the ordinary sedan and headed directly for the lead bulletproof Cadillac-the vehicle reserved exclusively for those of the highest bloodlines.

Maria, who was always loyal, immediately ran forward and opened the heavy car door for me.

I settled into the luxurious leather seat, pulled Angelo into my arms, and rolled down the tinted window halfway. Kara stood frozen in the dust, her smug expression now replaced by utter resentment.

"Let's go," I said to her, my voice devoid of any warmth. "Don't fall behind."

Kara's face flushed red. "His Excellency Lorenzo Falcone has officially dissolved your marriage! You have no power now!" she retorted sharply, eager to regain control.

I let out a soft, sinister laugh. The empty words written by those self-proclaimed gods were meaningless to a woman who had already witnessed the end of the world. I rolled up the car window, completely shutting out her pathetic existence.

The journey back to Chicago was a blurry silhouette of a gray highway. When the magnificent iron gates of Moretti Estate finally came into view, a heavy gloom settled over me.

The convoy came to a sudden stop.

Through the windshield, I saw a sleek black sedan blocking the entrance. I recognized the man leaning against the hood immediately. Leo. Damian Valenti's most trusted soldier.

The blood in my veins instantly turned cold. In my previous life, Damian's men didn't come to take Angelo today, because by this time, my son would already be a cold corpse.

I pushed open the door and got out of the car, immediately shielding Angelo behind my legs for protection.

Leo straightened up and gave me a polite but stiff nod. "Miss Moretti. I've come on Godfather Valenti's orders. I've come to take young Master Angelo home."

"Go home?" The word was forced out of my throat, filled with venomous hatred. "Damian is a beast who would trade even his own flesh and blood like casino chips. He abandoned us to the wolves, and now he wants his heir back?"

Leo frowned and stepped forward. "This is for Angelo's future, miss. Lord Valenti and Miss Richie-"

"Don't mention her name in front of me." I interrupted coldly, my voice extremely calm yet carrying a chilling pressure. I stared directly into Leo's eyes, at his blind loyalty that would ultimately destroy him. "Go tell Damian that if he dares to lay a finger on my son, I will expose the Valenti family's most shameful and sordid secrets to the entire Chicago Mafia."

Leo froze, his hand instinctively reaching for the holster inside his suit jacket. "Miss Isabella, be rational. Serafina just wants-"

"I know exactly what Serafina wants," I interrupted him again, taking a step closer until I could see his pupils dilate slightly. I lowered my voice and dropped a truth he couldn't comprehend at the moment. "Soon, she will need a loyal man to handle some extremely dark and bloody troubles for her. When that day comes, Leo, you will find that the price of serving her far exceeds your capacity to bear it."

Leo froze. The chillingly certain look in my eyes struck a nerve deep within him, a nerve he himself was unaware of. Without a direct order from the Godfather to wage war on Moretti family territory, he dared not make a move.

He slowly backed away, his eyes fixed on me, before getting into the car.

I watched the Valenti family's car reverse and speed away before turning around. I held Angelo's hand tightly and stepped through the massive iron gates of my grandfather's estate. I had won the standoff at the gates, but the real battle had just begun; I had to arm myself first.

Isabella's perspective

In this secluded suite in the east wing of the Moretti estate, the air is thick with the scents of aged wood, lemon varnish, and an almost suffocating stillness. It's a gilded cage draped in a heavy dust cover, but for tonight, it's my fortress.

I gently placed Angelo on the huge four-poster bed. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the pillow, his little hands still clenched into fists, the lingering fear from the day.

With each heartbeat, the raw, bleeding flesh on my palms throbbed with pain. In the dim light, I unwrapped the dirty strips of cloth that had been wrapped around my hands in the mine. The wounds were deep, bleeding in places, the edges jagged from the hammer's thud. I went to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and let the cold water wash over my swollen skin. The stinging pain was sharp and dizzying, but I didn't flinch. I found an old first-aid kit under the sink-disinfectant, gauze, medical tape. With my teeth and trembling fingertips, I did my best to bandage my hands, making sure it was tight enough to stop the bleeding, but leaving a little room for my fingers to move.

When I returned to the table, faint traces of blood were already visible through the white gauze.

I pulled out a thick sheet of paper with a gold embossed design. My stiff, swollen fingers could barely hold the pen. The first few letters were crooked and trembled on the paper from the excruciating pain. I stopped, took a deep breath, and forced my hand to steady itself. This time, the strokes became extremely sharp-not elegant, but cruelly precise, each stroke a struggle against the burning pain in my palm.

"Maria," I called softly.

She emerged from the shadows, her eyes still reflecting the shock of our confrontation at the door. I handed her the letter. The pulling motion shifted the gauze, and a new, bright red stain immediately appeared around her thumb.

"I need you to get these things through the family's underground channels. Don't leave any written record, and don't ask why."

Maria took the list, her eyes sweeping over the unspecified industrial reagents and high-concentration extracts. Her hands trembled uncontrollably. "This isn't medicine at all... My God, Miss, what dangerous trump card are you planning to concoct?"

She looked at me as if I were a stranger. And indeed I was. The innocent girl she once served was dead, buried in the abyss of a bloody future that only I remember.

"These are all necessary," I said, my flat, cold tone leaving no room for argument.

I turned away and walked towards my son. As I passed the doorway, a faint, rust-colored bloodstain remained on the gauze. An invisible boundary had been drawn. Maria swallowed hard, clutched the note tightly to her chest, lowered her head, and fell into silent submission, filled with fear.

By noon the following day, we were already seated in the back of an armored SUV, flanked by two Moretti family escort cars. This convoy was supposed to take us directly to a heavily guarded safe house on the shores of Lake Wisconsin.

I moved my fingers around in the gauze. After a night, my fingers were a little stiff, but the bleeding had stopped. I could make a fist-it hurt, but I could still use it.

I stared at the gray-white afterimage of the highway outside the tinted car window. We were almost at the exit for Blackwater Creek Town.

In my previous life, this desolate, forgotten rusty town was where Damian and Serafina found their greatest trump card. That decaying land harbored "Gary the Ghost"-a former strategist of a rival family whom everyone thought was dead. He held a black ledger, a book of sins with enough leverage to blackmail a current U.S. senator. It was that ledger that gave Damian the political capital to crush the Falcone family and reign supreme in Chicago.

This time, I will not let them succeed.

I leaned forward-because my fingertips were numb, I could only press the button on the driver's side panel with the heel of my hand. "Next exit to get off the highway."

The Moretti family head, who was driving, glanced at me in the rearview mirror. "Miss Isabella, the Godfather's orders are to head straight for the safe house."

"Get off the highway," I repeated, my voice lowering.

Maria grabbed my arm, her face deathly pale. Her fingers touched my bandaged hand, and I forced myself not to gasp. "Isabella, please! Blackwater Creek is a graveyard. It's full of scumbags and drug addicts. It's not a place for you, and it's certainly not a place for Angelo!"

"I know exactly where that is." I shook off her hand. The movement sent a sharp pain through my wrist. I stared intently at the leader in the rearview mirror. The air in the car instantly became heavy, filled with the suffocating pressure emanating from me. "We'll stop here. Now."

The leader's jaw was clenched, but the unwavering certainty in my voice completely shattered his resistance. He turned on his turn signal.

The armored convoy left the wide highway and headed down the ramp towards a dying town. Ahead, blocked-off shops and crumbling brick factories stood like rotten teeth under the gloomy sky. Maria sobbed, clutching Angelo tightly to her chest.

I clenched my bandaged hands tightly into fists on my knees-the bandages stretched taut, a dull ache spreading down to my elbows. This pain was a wake-up call. I was no longer the weak woman who had left the manor. I had become a harder blade.

My gaze was fixed on the rusty water tower in the distance. The game was set; I was ready to capture the enemy's queen.