Chapter 2

Isabella's perspective

Dr. Rossi stared at the boy lying lifeless on the stainless steel operating table, then looked at me with his greedy eyes. "I won't treat anyone without ten thousand dollars in cash, sweetie. This isn't a charity."

I didn't even blink. Although I had no money, I was holding a card far more deadly than any bill.

"I don't have cash," I said, my voice calm and lifeless, "but I have information that can save you from spending the rest of your life in federal prison. Tonight, the FBI will move in. The location is an underground spot on Eighth Street. The undercover agent's name is Miller, code name 'Viper.' He'll meet his contact at midnight."

Rosy's face instantly turned deathly pale, drained of all color. Under the mixed gaze of shock and awe, I pushed away the mountainous assistant. These hands, once reserved only for playing Chopin for mafia elites, had now become the most composed wings of redemption. Relying on the first aid skills honed in that dark world, I quickly stabilized Angeło's breathing. With a faint, low sigh, his violently 起伏 chest miraculously calmed down, settling into long, rhythmic breaths.

Rossi looked at me, his expression intertwined with fear and a deep fascination for the monster I had become. "You can stay," he murmured, taking a step back.

Hours later, in that bloodstained inner room, I held my sleeping son, clearly knowing what was happening in Chicago three hundred miles away. Memories of my past life played back disgustingly clearly.

Right now, in the glass-top apartment of the Lucchetta Building, my fate is being nailed to the gallows. My grandfather-"General" Marco Moretti-is bowing to Lorenzo Farkone. To save me from the slander meticulously woven by the mistress of the Farkone family, my grandfather was forced to give up our family's control over the Chicago port.

I can almost hear Lorenzo's smooth, aristocratic voice. He casually tosses an antique coin between his fingers, glancing at Damian Valentini, standing by the side with a heart of ash.

"To solidify your marriage with Miss Ricci, the Moretti family has surrendered the port," Lorenzo probes this new godfather. "In exchange, I declare your marriage to Isabella Moretti null and void. Damian, how do you feel about this deal?"

And Damien, without the slightest hesitation, coldly replied: "My wife is only Seraphina Rich."

"You won't regret it?"

"Never."

With just one word, Damien stripped me of all the protection I had in the Valenti family and threw me to the wolves. He discarded us like trash. But he didn't know that the woman he discarded had crawled back from hell.

A week later, the pungent dust from the Gary limestone quarry filled my throat.

I swung the heavy hammer, the violent impact shaking my arms. My hands were already raw and bleeding, the blood seeping into the rough canvas gloves. I needed clean cash to buy antibiotics for Angelo, and I also needed this cruel, almost self-destructive physical labor to forge this body into a weapon.

Amidst a sea of white dust and fog, a fleet of black Cadillac Kerade parked at the edge of this desolate mine pit.

I didn't stop what I was doing.

Maria, the most loyal servant of our family, stumbled out of the leading carriage, accompanied by the fully armed Moretti family soldiers. She spent several days navigating the dirty streets, bribing bartenders and informants, just to find her former Mafia queen in this wasteland.

"Miss!" Maria's voice broke into heart-wrenching sobs. She ran through the mud, knelt before me, indifferent to the mud staining her spotless dress. "Oh, dear, Miss Isabella... look at what you've suffered. Let's take you home."

I slowly lowered the hammer, took off my glove, and carelessly wrapped my bleeding palm with a dirty cloth. My eyes were like a pool of stagnant water, showing no shock or relief as she had expected.

In a past life, they arrived two days after I lost Ange . By the time they got there, they could only afford to buy a small wooden coffin for him. I had already been shattered, my heart completely dead.

But this time, everything was completely different.

"I know, Maria," I said calmly, my gaze falling on the armored cars waiting to take us back to Chicago as I looked past her crying figure, "Help me pack the children's luggage."