I died in that cold, dark room, choking on my own blood and the bitter taste of betrayal.
But I didn't stay dead.
I woke up gasping for air, clutching a chest that was smooth and unscarred.
The calendar on my nightstand read May 12, 2018.
It was five years ago. The very morning I was scheduled to sign the marriage contract that would seal my fate.
I looked at the paper on the vanity.
In my last life, I signed it with a trembling hand.
This time, I flicked open my silver Zippo and watched the flames eat Luca's name.
I didn't pack a dress. I packed a pistol and a stack of cash.
I was going to Las Vegas.
There was only one man dangerous enough to help me destroy the New York families.
I walked into the underground fight club, locked eyes with the deadliest man in the room, and smiled.
"Dante Cavallaro," I said.
"I'm here to make you a King."
Chapter 1
Sera POV
The phantom sensation of a serrated knife carving through my skin woke me screaming, though the sound died in my throat.
My lungs heaved, desperate for air that didn't smell like mildew and dried blood. I clawed at my chest, expecting to find the gash Luca had left there, but my fingers met smooth, unbroken skin.
The expensive silk of my nightgown clung to my sweat-drenched body.
I wasn't in the basement. I wasn't dead.
I scrambled for the phone on the bedside table. The light blinded me for a second before the numbers swam into focus.
May 12, 2018.
It was five years ago. Five years before Mia poisoned my mother. Five years before Luca Vance, the man I was supposed to marry, watched his men drag me into the dark.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands trembling. The silence of the Moretti estate was heavy, suffocating. Downstairs, I knew my father was likely drinking scotch in his study, proud that he had secured a union with the Vance family.
On the vanity table sat the contract. The paper was thick, cream-colored, and binding. An arranged marriage to Luca Vance, a rising Capo who would eventually become a monster.
I stood up. My legs felt weak, but my mind was sharpening with every second. The terror of the torture chamber was fading, replaced by a cold, hard stone in the center of my chest.
I walked to the vanity and stared into the mirror. The girl staring back was twenty-one, beautiful, and naive. But her eyes were ancient. They were the eyes of a woman who had seen her own grave.
I picked up the contract.
In my past life, I had signed it. I had tried to be the perfect Mafia Princess. I had tried to be kind to Mia, my father's illegitimate daughter, even when she looked at me with envy that could peel paint.
That kindness had gotten me killed.
I walked to the fireplace. I didn't bother with a match. I used the lighter Luca had given me as an engagement gift, a silver Zippo engraved with our initials.
I flicked the flame to life. It danced, hungry and bright.
I held the corner of the marriage contract to the fire. The paper curled, turning black, then ash. I watched the flames eat my name. I watched them eat Luca's name.
It felt like the first deep breath I had taken in years.
I didn't pack clothes. Clothes were heavy. I packed cash. I opened the safe behind the painting of the Virgin Mary-a safe my father thought only he knew the combination to. I took every stack of bills inside.
I grabbed my passport.
I went to the desk and pulled out a sheet of stationery. I didn't write a tearful goodbye. I didn't beg for forgiveness.
*I resign.*
Two words. That was all they deserved.
I slipped a small, pearl-handled pistol into my purse. It was a decorative thing, meant for a lady, but it could still put a hole in a man if he got too close.
I walked out of my bedroom door and didn't look back. The hallway was dark. I moved like a ghost, the way I had learned to move when I was trying to avoid Luca's temper in the future.
I slipped out the servant's entrance. The night air was cool against my flushed skin.
A black sedan was waiting at the end of the driveway. I had called the service three minutes after I woke up.
"Where to, Miss?" the driver asked, his eyes scanning me in the rearview mirror.
"The airport," I said.
"And then?"
"Las Vegas," I whispered.
New York was a cage. Vegas was a jungle. And in the jungle, you didn't need a pedigree. You just needed teeth.