Reborn To Ruin The Capo's Wedding

My mother is marrying a monster tomorrow.

I'm the only one who remembers.

My widowed mother was arranged to marry Lorenzo, a powerful Mafia Capo. I thought his status would finally bring us protection.

But on the third day of their marriage, Lorenzo moved his pregnant mistress, Camilla, into the estate's master suite.

She loudly claimed the child in her womb was the orphaned blood of a fallen soldier.

"A Capo of Lorenzo's stature is doing your mother a service," the Syndicate wives mocked me, demanding we accept our place.

Camilla systematically seized my mother's territory cuts and subjected her to endless psychological torture, while Lorenzo simply turned a blind eye.

When the baby was born, it bore the exact same distinct birthmark on its neck as Lorenzo.

Only then did we realize Lorenzo had used my mother as a convenient shield for his illicit affair, stealing my dead father's legacy and slowly draining our lives away.

I didn't understand why the Family's brutal justice allowed a thief to siphon funds under the guise of caring for a martyr's widow, leaving us to die in absolute disgrace.

Opening my eyes again, I was back to the day before the mob wedding.

Looking at my six-year-old hands, I grabbed the torn marriage petition and stole the secret trust documents.

This time, I ran straight to the heavily guarded gates of Don Salvatore, the most ruthless executioner in the city.

Chapter 1

Sienna POV

Prologue

My mother is marrying a monster tomorrow.

I'm the only one who remembers what he'll do to us. How, in three days, his pregnant mistress will sleep in my mother's bed, and how, year by year, he will steal everything my father died to protect until we are left with nothing but dust and disgrace.

That’s why I ran. That's why I'm here, kneeling on freezing stones in front of the scariest man in the city.

The cold of the cobblestones bit through the thin fabric of my dress as I knelt before the Syndicate gates, a torn marriage petition clutched in my six-year-old hands. My knees hurt, but not as much as my heart hurt in my past life.

I knew with a certainty that felt older than I was that if I did not stop my mother from marrying Capo Lorenzo tomorrow, his pregnant mistress would slowly drain our lives away—just as she had done in my past life.

These great iron gates belonged to Don Salvatore Romano. Mama once said he eats traitors for breakfast. I didn't know if that was true, but I hoped he was hungry. Before him, even the most defiant Capos were known to cup their hands around a match when lighting his cigar. That part I remembered for real.

Men spoke his name only in dark alleys, understanding he was a ruthless executioner who demanded undeniable proof before painting his gardens with the blood of traitors.

Still, the calculated danger in his posture and the weight of his power were the only things that could now save us.

A group of Mafia wives stood a few feet away, the winter light catching the frost on the collars of their mink coats. They looked like a pack of angry, perfumed wolves.

They looked down at me, and in their gaze was a disgust so plain it needed no adulteration.

Rosa crossed her arms, the motion tight and dismissive.

"Your mother is a fortunate woman," she muttered to the others, her words like chipped porcelain. "A Capo of Lorenzo's stature is doing her a service, taking in a widow with such baggage."

Her words settled like a stone in my stomach, a cold and sickening dread. But it was a stone that sparked a fire.

I remembered the precise sequence of events from my previous life.

On the third day of that arranged marriage, Camilla had moved into the estate.

She had systematically seized my mother's territory cuts and subjected her to endless psychological torture while Lorenzo had simply turned a blind eye. His eyes were always so cold, like a dead fish, just like I remembered.

I was not going to let history repeat itself.

While my mother was out securing a bespoke black silk dress for the coming mob wedding, I had stolen the Syndicate trust documents.

I had run for miles on legs that were far too short for the task, just to reach the Don's estate.

A crunch of tires on gravel pulled me from my thoughts as a sleek, armored SUV pulled up to the gates.

The heavy doors groaned open, and Lorenzo stepped out.

He wore a custom Italian suit that bore not a single crease, but the knuckles of the hand holding his cigar were the color of dead fish. A practiced mask of compassion was arranged on his features. It was a liar's face, and I knew it better than my own.

When he saw me huddled on the ground, he sighed softly and reached down with a gentle hand to help me up.

I slapped his hand away with a force that jarred my own shoulder.

I then threw the torn marriage petition directly onto his polished leather shoes.

I angled my chin up, fixing my eyes on him, and screamed with a voice I hoped would carry to every guard on the perimeter.

"The bastard in Camilla's womb is not the bloodline of a fallen Soldier!"

A profound silence fell over the heavily guarded gates. The only sound was the low, humming idle of the SUV's engine outside the walls.

Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Lorenzo's hand froze mid-air.

His charismatic smile slipped, and what replaced it was a dark vacancy in his eyes that promised violence. I saw it. I saw the monster behind the mask. Score one for the six-year-old.

Enforcer Ricci stepped forward from the unmoving line of guards, his thumb stroking the handle of his weapon.

"Do not break Omertà with falsehoods, child," he warned, his voice low and raspy, as he defended Lorenzo's honor. "The Capo is merely protecting a dead brother's family."

I pivoted my head slowly on my neck and met the Enforcer's gaze. Adults were always so slow to see the truth, even when it was screaming right in front of them.

"Does protecting a fallen brother's family require giving a mistress the master suite of the Capo's estate?" I asked, my voice disarmingly steady for a child.

A collective, sharp intake of breath came from the wives, a sound like dry leaves skittering across the courtyard.

Rosa and the others drew in around me, their bodies forming a tight, predatory circle.

They began to scold me, their voices a chaotic overlap of outrage.

"A fatherless brat has no right to question the arrangements of the Family!" Rosa's voice cut through the others.

My grip on the trust documents tightened until the edges bit into my palms. Rosa's words were a sharp, cold wind, but they could not extinguish the fire of my past life's memories—the slow starvation, the endless humiliation, the day I watched my mother's spirit finally break. I would die again before I let that future unfold. My plan was working. The Don's guards had heard me. There was no turning back now.