On the night before the wedding, my fiancé suddenly asked me to give up the ceremony for his first love, Sofia.

I turned it down cold in my former life, only to become the Chicago mob’s godmother at a lavish wedding.

When Sofia heard the news, she was heartbroken and jumped into the sea to take her own life.

Vincent blamed me for Sofia’s death.

For the next thirty years, the words he said to me most often were:

“Elena, if I had married Sofia that day, she wouldn't have died.”

On his deathbed, he told our children:

“Don’t bury me with Elena.”

The year after he died, I fell gravely ill and passed away.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night before the wedding.

Over the phone, Vincent's voice came again: "Sofia needs this title more than you do. Everyone knows I love you, so they respect you—but Sofia's different. She's just a poor orphan girl..."

Before he could finish, I calmly replied, “Fine, I agree.”

I turned and signed the papers to cut ties with the family.

I flew to Sicily, home to the Salk Institute that I had always looked up to.

In this life, I refuse to be his appendage.

"Elena!"

Consigliere Luca's voice pulled me back.

He placed a parchment document on the ebony desk in front of me, sealed with wax stamped with the family's golden crest.

"The Council of Elders approved your marriage application unanimously. Welcome to the Gambino family, officially."

"After all these years, he's finally giving you the title you deserve. Congratulations, child."

My eyes locked onto that crest—the symbol of ultimate power. And when I saw the date, I froze.

I had been reborn.

In my past life, I'd been overjoyed at this moment, thinking I would finally stand beside him, sharing his power and glory.

But that very night, Vincent's call came.

He asked me to give it all up—the wedding, the title—to his first love, Sofia.

A sharp ring from the internal phone shattered my memory.

Luca answered immediately, his posture respectful. "Don, yes, the documents have been delivered... Miss Elena is right here."

He covered the receiver, nodded at me, and lowered his voice. "It's the Don. He must be calling to discuss the wedding details with you personally."

I stood up and took the heavy antique receiver.

"You got the papers?"

Vincent paused for a moment, as if choosing his words.

"Sofia's back."

"You know her father just passed away. There's been infighting in her family—her uncles are all circling her shares and her port control. She needs the godmother title as protection, to hold her ground."

The exact same speech.

In my past life, I exploded with rage.

"I'm the one who's been by your side. You're marrying me, and only me!"

That stubbornness got me what I wanted—I married Vincent. And all it earned me was thirty years of his resentment.

Vincent's voice on the phone pulled me back.

"Elena, you're different from her."

"You fought your way out of blood and fire. Without this title, you're still the Ice Rose that everyone fears. But her... she's too fragile. Give this one up for her—for me. I'll make it up to you. Name anything you want, and I'll..."

"Fine."

The line went dead silent.

After several long seconds, Vincent spoke again, hesitantly. "You agree?"

"Yes. I agree."

"The wedding. The godmother position. Give it all to her. And you don't owe me anything in return."

Because, from this moment on, I'm not going to marry you anymore.

I could hear his breathing quicken on the other end. He probably hadn't expected me to give in so easily, and it seemed to throw him off balance.

"Good. I'm glad you understand." He quickly recovered, his voice slipping back into that usual tone of control. "Friday's ceremony—you should... stay away. As for after, I can transfer those nightclubs in Brooklyn to your name."

"Not necessary." I cut him off. "Anything else? If not, I'm hanging up."

I hung up without waiting for his reply.

Consigliere Luca had been watching my face nervously the whole time. He stepped forward quickly. "Miss, the Don...?"

I turned to face the elder who had always looked out for me in the family. "Uncle Luca, please tell the Council... I voluntarily renounce all titles and the betrothal to be confirmed at the ceremony. Give everything to Sofia."

"What?" Luca's face went pale, almost speechless. "Do you know what that means? This is what you earned! You bled for this family—you rooted out the traitors, you reclaimed three smuggling routes! What does that Sofia Colombo have to do with any of it?"

"Uncle Luca, my mind is made up."

I slid the document I'd once dreamed of having back across the desk toward him—gently, but firmly.

It would take a week for the news of the bride change to make its way through the family's internal channels.

That whole week, all of Chicago's underworld was buzzing.

People said I'd actually given up a wedding that was right within my grasp.

Others said Sofia Colombo must have some serious pull—making Vincent swap brides right before he was set to take over.

I paid no mind to any of it.

On the fourth afternoon before the wedding, Vincent's most trusted man, Paul, showed up at the back door of my private clinic, carrying a brand-new Louis Vuitton suitcase.

"Miss Elena," Paul set the case on the marble reception desk, looking a little uneasy. "Mr. Vincent asked me to deliver this."

A few of the nurses exchanged glances.

Gina walked over from across the room, eyed the suitcase, and said with a smirk, "Well, the compensation came quick. At least he's thinking of you."

I flipped the latches open.

Inside: three top-grade cashmere shawls, a diamond necklace in a blue velvet box, several beautifully wrapped boxes of Belgian chocolates, two miniature pearl-handled pistols, some expensive caviar, and a few educational toys for kids.

Every piece was exquisite. Every piece was clearly meant for Sofia and her seven-year-old son, little Louie.

And at the very bottom, tucked under everything, was an old, worn brown leather notebook with curled edges.

That one—only that one—was for me.

Paul caught a glimpse of it and quickly looked away.

Gina gasped and clenched her fists.

I let out a bitter laugh. In my past life, I was dead set on marrying a man like this.

It wasn't that he didn't know how to pick gifts. He just couldn't be bothered to put any thought into me.

"Elena."

Sofia's voice came from the doorway.

She was wearing a light pink Chanel suit today, holding little Louie by the hand.

Her eyes landed on the open suitcase, lingered on the diamond necklace for a second, then filled with tears.

"Paul said the things were being delivered to you," she stepped inside, her voice soft. "About the wedding... I'm truly sorry. I said no, but Vincent said it was the only way to keep my father's port business intact and keep Louis and me safe. Please don't blame him—blame me if you have to."

She nudged her son. "Louis, say sorry to Aunt Elena."

The boy pouted, hid behind her, and shot me a hostile glare.

I pulled the old notebook from the bottom of the case and set it on the counter.

"Everything's here. Count it, and take it."

Sofia's rehearsed tears paused in her eyes. She glanced at the notebook in my hand and said, with a slight edge of defiance, "Elena, are you... are you really just keeping that? Is that all Vincent gave you?"

"It doesn't matter." I met her gaze calmly. "The wedding is yours anyway. The gifts were meant for you. None of it has anything to do with me anymore."

Sofia's face flushed slightly.

She pressed her lips together, finally muttered a quiet "thank you," motioned for Paul to pick up the suitcase, and hurried out of the clinic with her son.

Late that night, I went back to my penthouse overlooking the lake.

Every piece of it was decorated by my own hands.

In the liquor cabinet sat his favorite—Macallan 25.

I took the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and poured every drop of that dark golden liquid down the stainless steel sink.

I walked into the study, opened the hidden safe, and pulled out a plain titanium card with no markings on it.

Six months ago, at a secret auction in Vienna, the director of the Salk Institute had found me.

"Ms. Costa," he'd said back then, "your hands-on experience with nerve agent metabolism far surpasses any of our theoretical researchers. Chicago's businesses are wasting your talent. Come to Switzerland—we'll give you your own lab, an unlimited budget, and complete freedom."

At the time, all I could think about was the wedding. I turned him down.

Now I turned on the encrypted satellite phone and dialed the only number on the card.

Three rings later, the line connected.

"Tell the director I'm accepting the position. Under the terms he originally offered."

I let out a breath. Everything was in place. Just one last spark, and I was done.

I opened the desk drawer and started writing my formal declaration of severance from the family.

Early the next morning, I walked into Consigliere Luca's office with the signed document.

"Elena, have a seat." Uncle Luca was smoking a cigar. He gestured for me to sit. "The Elders have already signed off on the ceremony changes. The family will give you appropriate compensation—"

"Uncle Luca, I don't want compensation." I placed the parchment on his wide mahogany desk. "I'm here because I need you to stamp this with the family seal."

Uncle Luca put down his cigar, picked up the document, and scanned it.

"Declaration of severance?!" He shot up from his chair, the leather swivel bumping into the bookcase behind him with a dull thud. "Elena, you're leaving the family? You're leaving Vincent?!"

In a world where blood and loyalty were the iron law, voluntarily severing ties with the core family was practically a declaration of war—an act of betrayal.

And the family I was leaving happened to be Vincent Rossi's.

"My signature's already on it." My voice didn't waver. "All I need is your seal of confirmation."

Uncle Luca came around the desk, trying to talk me down. "Kid, you're still upset about the wedding? Vincent—he has his reasons. Sofia's father just died, the situation's complicated. Giving her the title was the quickest way to stabilize things. But that doesn't mean he doesn't value you! You're the one he truly loves—that'll never change!"

"Uncle Luca, please don't bother."

"But if you leave the family, you lose all protection. How many enemies out there would jump at the chance? Have you thought about that?"

"I can take care of myself. I've already accepted a position elsewhere. Once the paperwork's done, I'm leaving Chicago." My tone was steady, leaving no room for debate.

Uncle Luca looked at me for a long moment, then finally let out a heavy sigh and stamped the document.

"Kid," he said, his voice sounding older now, "I hope you don't regret this."

I left his office and went back to my apartment.

At nine that night, I was packing when the apartment door buzzed open with an electronic key card—loud and jarring.

Vincent stood in the doorway, carrying the chill of the night with him. He'd clearly come straight from some important meeting or deal—still in his tailored suit jacket.

"Elena, are you out of your mind?!"

He crossed the room in a few strides and grabbed my wrist, his eyes burning with fury.

"You went to Luca and signed a severance over a wedding? Do you have any idea what that means? My fiancée walking out—that's a public announcement that I'm the kind of man who discards women! What happens to my reputation then?"

I didn't try to pull away. I just looked up at his handsome face, twisted with anger.

"So you came rushing back—not because you're worried about me, but because you're worried about your reputation. Is that it?"

Vincent's grip faltered for a split second.

"Don't change the subject!" He let go of my wrist and yanked at his tie in frustration. "Elena, I always thought you were the most reasonable, the most sensible person I knew! Sofia's family is in shambles—she has no way to protect herself! You giving up the wedding to her, letting her have the family's protection—that saves her life! Why can't you have a shred of compassion? Why do you have to be so cold and calculating?!"

"Cold and calculating?"

I looked at this man I'd once given everything for, and all I felt was how ridiculous it was.

"Vincent, if you feel you owe the Colombo family, if you feel you need to protect Sofia—fine. You want to repay a debt? Give her money. Send her protection. Give her anything real and tangible. But what did you actually do?"

My eyes dropped to the tiny family crest pin on his lapel.

"You're marrying her."

Bang!

Vincent's fist slammed into the oak cabinet beside him, sending glass ornaments crashing to the floor.

"Elena! It's just a ceremony! Once this blows over, of course you're where I'll end up!"

The room went dead silent.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I'd seen that look a thousand times before.

In my past life, after Sofia died. Every single time he mentioned her name. That same cold, distant gaze.

So it didn't matter whether Sofia was alive or dead—in his eyes, I would always be that scheming, heartless woman.

The last faint ember in my heart went out—completely.

I looked away, my voice flat.

"You're right. So from now on, we're done."