I knew my husband, Giovanni Rossini, had done it. He had stolen his dead twin brother's identity and faked his own death.

And I said nothing.

In my last life, he had discarded me and our daughter, Natalia, for his mistress, Katrina Moretti.

My mother-in-law, Antonietta, called us trash and forced my five-year-old to peel olives until her small hands blistered. I knelt and begged for money to buy medicine.

Giovanni only held Katrina and laughed. In the end, Natalia and I froze and starved to death. Even as we died, Katrina's mocking voice still rang in my ears.

Everyone watched with cold eyes. They closed ranks, shifted the blame onto me, and shoved us toward a dead end with no escape.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the exact moment they carried Marco's body into the warehouse.

This time, I wouldn't let anyone destroy us. I would make them pay twice over for everything they had done to me and my daughter.

Year 1955, Little Esperia, Megalo Milos…

A body lay on a set of wooden planks at the center of the warehouse. A black cloth covered it. Someone lifted one corner.

The face beneath mirrored my husband's. He was Marco Rossini, Giovanni Rossini's twin brother.

The man standing beside the planks dabbed at the corner of his eye with a handkerchief, as if grief had stolen his voice. He was one of the Angelis family's Capos. He was my husband, Giovanni Rossini.

He had dressed the part with care. He wore Marco's dark gray suit. He had even switched the cuff buttons, down to the same style Marco always favored. He was meticulous when it suited him.

"Rina, you finally made it." His voice caught with a practiced hitch, as though he were choking it back. "The Hibernians went crazy. They hit the shipping line. Giovanni… He didn't make it to cover."

I lowered my eyes. My nails bit into my palm hard enough to sting. The memories returned, sharp as glass.

Natalia burned with fever in my arms while I knelt at his front door. I smashed my forehead against the stone until blood streamed down my face. I begged for money for medicine.

He stepped out of the townhouse with Katrina on his arm, smiling like a man who had won a prize.

Antonietta, my mother-in-law, stood above me on the steps and spat her words into my face. She called me trash. She said Natalia and I were a stain on the Rossini name, gutter filth that never should have existed.

In the end, I spent every coin I had and still failed to save my little girl. Afterward, I froze and starved in an alley. Even then, I could hear Katrina laughing somewhere far away, as if the world itself mocked me.

Hatred surged so fast it nearly tore through my throat.

Instead, I collapsed onto the body. My shoulders shook as though I could not breathe. "Giovanni… How could you leave me and Natalia…"

I pressed my face to Marco's cold chest so that Giovanni would not see my eyes.

The tears came anyway. Not for Marco but for the daughter I failed to protect and the version of myself that died with her name on my lips.

Giovanni's hand settled on my back. He patted me as one would a child. His voice softened into something rehearsed. "The dead don't come back. We need to deal with this quickly."

I lifted my head. Tears clung to my lashes. "Cremate him. Reduce him to ash. No one gets to disturb him again."

Giovanni's eyes brightened for a brief instant. He nodded at once. "You're right. You always think things through."

"I should tell the Don myself." I wiped my face and rose with care, bracing my hands against the edge of the planks. "He deserves to hear it from family."

"No need to bother the Don." Giovanni's voice rose too sharply before he forced it down. "It was an accident. We can keep it simple. There's no reason to waste the Don's time."

I tilted my head, as though I had missed the fracture in his story. "How can we keep it simple? If the Don learns we cut corners, he'll say we showed him disrespect."

I knew why he wanted Don Vincenzo Angelis kept away. He did not want close scrutiny. He did not want a doctor or an inspection that could reveal the wounds did not match the tale. He did not want the illusion to collapse.

Giovanni's face tightened. His jaw flexed once. He did not dare refuse again.

…

When I returned home, the front door sat half latched. I pushed it open and found Natalia on the couch. She clutched a battered cloth doll to her chest. Her small body curled inward.

At the sound of my steps, she looked up. Her eyes were red. "Mama, why isn't Papa back yet? I'm scared. I feel like someone's watching me."

I crossed the room and pulled her into my arms. She still held that warm, sleep-soft heat. She was solid and alive, my true heartbeat.

I stroked her hair. "Papa went somewhere far away. He became a star. He'll watch over us. He'll protect us."

She blinked, trying to understand. Her small hands locked around my neck. "Do stars talk? I want to tell Papa I miss him."

Something sharp pierced my chest. I nodded and kept my voice steady. "They do. He can hear you."

A knock sounded.

Giovanni entered as if this place still belonged to him, as if he had not just stood over a corpse while wearing another man's life.

"I arranged the cremation. Tomorrow morning." His tone softened in front of Natalia. "Rina, get some rest. If you need anything, call me."

I looked up at him and kept my expression calm. "Thank you, Marco."

His gaze flickered.

"Of course," Giovanni said.

St. Mariah Church was packed. Black suits filled every pew.

I sat in the front row in a faded black mourning dress, my fingers locked tight around Natalia's small hand.

Her palm felt slick with cold sweat. Her other hand clutched my sleeve like a lifeline. She kept darting glances around the church, all nerves and wide eyes, like a startled animal bracing for a blow.

The church doors opened.

Giovanni entered and cradled Katrina as if she might shatter. She wore an off-white lace dress, with one hand resting lightly on her slightly rounded belly.

"Katrina's pregnant. She can't handle too much strain." Giovanni guided her into the empty seat beside me. His voice sounded soft, and indulgence filled his eyes. "Sorry to make you sit so long, sweetheart."

My stomach rolled. I dug my nails into my palm until the nausea eased.

Katrina spoke first. "Rina, Giovanni passed so suddenly. You're a woman alone now, with a child. That isn't easy."

Her tone stayed gentle, almost kind. "Leaving his money with you isn't safe. Why don't you let me keep it for now? When Natalia grows up, I'll return every cent to her."

I did not answer. My gaze stayed fixed on the portrait at the altar, as if her words had never reached me.

Giovanni followed smoothly. "Katrina's right. A widow guarding money with a child only invites trouble. Worse, it could bring problems to the family. Hand it over. It's for your own good."

For my own good? That money was the only way out for Natalia and me, our only road forward. And he dared to reach for it in the open.

Something snapped.

I lifted my head. "Giovanni is dead. His estate belongs to me and Natalia."

My voice rang through the church. "You're his brother. If you won't protect a widow and a child, fine. But standing over a corpse and grabbing what he left behind?"

I sneered, "Do you have no shame at all? Or are you not afraid he'll come looking for you at night to collect what you stole?"

Giovanni's face hardened. "Watch your mouth."

"Am I wrong?" I laughed coldly and stood. I turned and walked toward the corner of the church.

Several battered wooden crates stood stacked there. I had hidden them ahead of time. I dragged out the bottom one and flipped the lid open.

Inside lay Giovanni's initiation certificate, fragments of his smuggling ledgers, and the token he had once given me when we were young, a cheap silver ring.

"This is what your brother left me." I seized the certificate and stepped toward the fireplace.

Flames licked along the paper's edge. "If you don't want it, fine. It's useless anyway. I might as well burn it and let it follow him."

The paper hissed as it curled and blackened. I fed the ledger scraps into the fire, then the silver ring. The flames leaped higher and painted my face in flickering light.

My voice broke just enough to sound real. "When he was alive, none of you remembered his worth. He's barely cold, and you're already fighting over what he left behind…"

"Rina! Don't you dare!" Giovanni roared and lunged forward.

A white-haired elder, Alessandro Lo Russo, raised one hand and stopped him cold. He stood as one of the family's old pillars. His glance at Giovanni felt icy and final.

Giovanni froze. The color drained from his face as he watched the last proof tying him to the name Giovanni burn down to ash.

I watched the fire die and leave nothing but black dust.

Relief washed through me.

Without those records, Giovanni could never truly be Giovanni again. He would exist only as Marco, the insignificant twin who had never touched the family's inner circle.

The identity he had stolen with such care had just become his prison.

After the funeral, Natalia tugged at my sleeve. Her voice dropped to a whisper, sharp with a child's instincts. "Mama, when Uncle Marco touched his nose just now, it was exactly like Papa. And the way he talks, too. It feels the same."

My chest tightened. I crouched and wrapped her in my arms, pressing my mouth to her ear.

My voice trembled despite my effort to steady it. "That's because they were twins, sweetheart. Papa's already in heaven. He won't be coming back. From now on, I will do everything I can to protect you."

She nodded without fully understanding and buried her face against me.

I looked up. Across the crowd, my eyes met Giovanni's. He stood at the church doors with his black suit collar loosened. The mask was gone. Naked hatred stared back at me. It was dark and poisonous, waiting to strike.

After the funeral, I went straight to Don Vincenzo Angelis' estate.

Cigar smoke hung low in his study and settled in heavy layers. He leaned back on a leather sofa and tapped one finger against the desk in a slow, measured rhythm.

"Sit, Rina." He tipped his chin. "What happened to Giovanni has already been handled by the family. The consigliere will deliver compensation. It will be enough for you and Natalia to live on."

I did not sit. I kept my back straight, and my fingers turned white as I clenched them together. "Don Angelis, I do not want compensation."

His brows rose a fraction, and surprise flashed across his face. "Oh? Then what do you want?"

"A job." I met his gaze without flinching. "I can keep books. I can handle paperwork. I can run errands with the shipping crews if needed. I want to support Natalia myself. I do not want to rely on the Rossini family anymore. I do not want to survive by reading other people's faces."

"Women do not belong out front," he said evenly as he raised his whiskey and took a sip. "A Rossini widow should live quietly and raise her child."

"I am only asking for the chance to earn my own living." My voice stayed level. "I will not cause trouble for the family. I will do whatever I am told, clean and careful."

He studied me in silence. Smoke curled between us and obscured his expression.

At last, he nodded once. "You are tougher than the rumors suggest. Ventusa's shipping branch needs a bookkeeper. You will go there, far from the mess here."

He paused. "The paperwork removing your status as a Rossini family dependent will arrive tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Don Angelis." I bowed deeply, and the weight on my chest eased a little.

As I left the estate, the Soldati near the alley lowered their heads when they saw me.

For now, Giovanni's widowhood still served as a shield.

I hurried back to the Rossini house, my thoughts fixed on Natalia. I wanted only to pack our things and take her as far from this place as possible.

The front door creaked open. Darkness filled the courtyard, and a weak yellow light glowed from the living room.

I rushed inside and froze. A small figure lay curled against the wall.

Natalia clutched a tiny olive knife and struggled to peel olives into a basin. Swollen, raw blisters covered her hands. Some had burst and left faint streaks of blood. She flinched when I touched her.

"Natalia!" I dropped to my knees and pulled her into my arms.

"Mama!" She collapsed against me and sobbed, her voice hoarse and broken. "Grandma said I'm useless. She said if I don't work, I don't get to eat. I peeled for so long. My hands hurt. Mama, I'm so hungry."

Rage shot up my spine.

"Who told you to do this?" I snapped and looked toward the doorway.

Antonietta stepped out with her hands on her hips. She spat on the floor and sneered, "What's the problem? I made her do a little work. If you eat Rossini food, you earn it. Useless thing. She peels olives and still complains. Born trash, just like her mother."

"She's five years old." My voice shook as I stood and held Natalia tight. "She's Giovanni's daughter, not your servant. We're moving out today. We will not take another bite from this house."

"Moving out?" Antonietta laughed sharply and blocked the door. "You think a widow with a dead-weight child can survive out there? You'll be dead in a gutter within days."

Katrina stepped forward, one hand pressed to her lower back. A satisfied smile rested on her face.

"I'm carrying the Rossini future. This house will need people to serve it." Her eyes slid over me. "You can stay and take care of me. I'll make sure you and the girl get fed."

Giovanni followed her into the room.

"My mother is old. She can't be upset. Katrina is pregnant and needs rest." His tone turned calculating. "You stay and handle the housework. I won't treat you badly. At least you and Natalia won't starve."

"I don't need your charity." I turned and carried Natalia toward the bedroom. "The Rossini table means nothing to us."

At dawn, before the sky fully lightened, I led Natalia out the door. Two train tickets to Ventusa rested in my hand. I had arranged everything overnight.

Once we boarded that train, we would be free. We would have a clean break and a new life.

We reached the mouth of the alley. A shadow lunged forward and blocked our path.

Giovanni stood there in a black suit. His hair lay in disarray, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild. He had not slept. His gaze locked onto the tickets in my hand like a starving animal sighting meat.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.