His Obsession, My Revenge: A Mafia Second Life

ella

t life was still pressed ruthlessly over my face. But instead of the damp, rotting stench of that remote warehouse

om in shadows. Beneath me were the tangled black silk sheets of Damien Moretti's bed. My skin still

impossible reality of my rebirt

lthy rat," a har

ng up into the sneering face of Caterina, the Falcone maid. Behi

raking over my bare shoulders. "*Puttana*(Whore). *Sang

od floor with a dull thud. In my past life, I had wept and begged, terrified of the misunderstanding. Now, the memory of my

thick with the sting of bleach and mildew, the single bulb overhead casting

arbones-Damien's territorial brands. Pure jealousy twisted her features. She ho

ubbing my flesh with brutal force, trying to erase the Don's touch. The physical agony and the suffocating steam mirrored the despair of my previous death. Yet, this

s private sitting room. The air here was suffocatingly sweet, thick with burning sandalwood

tapping against a gold-rimmed teacup. She looked every inch the untouchable Mafi

has ruined the Falcone honor. We should sell her to a brothel in Havana.

rug, forcing my shoulders to tremble. I k

Russo. She is young and foolish. The wine my mother s

ready to offer me the gilded cage she had built. I kept my head b