Divorcing My Mafia Boss: Keep Your Precious Widow

When my mafia husband moved his brother's widow and son into our home, I didn't shed a tear or throw a fit. Instead, I quietly packed our bags.

"It's hard for Alessia to raise a boy alone," I told him, not meeting his eyes. "My daughter and I will move out so you can take better care of them."

Later, on my daughter's birthday, my husband gifted her a vintage model car. The widow's son threw a massive tantrum for it.

Without a fuss, my little girl calmly handed it over.

"Papa said since you don't have a father anymore, he is your father now," she said softly. "I'm older. You can have it."

My husband was deeply pleased with our generosity. Yet, over time, he realized something was wrong.

I no longer looked at him with love. His daughter no longer reached for his hand.

He didn't know the truth. In my past life, his twisted devotion to that mother and son had literally killed us.

He threw us out into a blizzard, hoarding all the family's medical supplies and rations for them. He left us to freeze and starve to death in the snow.

Reborn, we won't fight them for him anymore.

Because we will never need Dante Moretti again.

…

Serena

The door clicked shut. Dante had just left, taking Alessia and her son with him.

Lucia and I stood in the doorway of our rented apartment, staring at the absolute wreck they had left behind. Matteo had trashed the living room out of boredom, and Dante hadn't done a single thing to stop him.

My little girl frowned at the scattered mess.

"Mama, can we ask Papa not to look for us anymore?" her voice was eerily quiet. "If they don't come, maybe I can actually have a happy birthday."

A sharp pain pierced my chest. I knelt down and gently stroked her hair.

"Then we'll move further away," I promised. "Somewhere he can never find us."

We packed our few belongings. Before leaving, I took one last glance at the modest apartment we had tried so hard to make a home.

A bitter wave of irony washed over me.

…

In my past life, it all started the night Dante's older brother was assassinated—found shot dead in his own study.

Hours later, Dante brought the grieving widow, Alessia, and her son into the estate.

"Alessia is my brother's widow, and Matteo is his only bloodline. As the underboss, protecting them is my absolute duty," Dante declared. "You need to accommodate them, Serena."

Soon after, Alessia paraded around in the custom Italian evening gown I had saved for our anniversary.

When I confronted him, Dante merely frowned, looking at me with distinct disappointment.

"It's just a dress. She's grieving. If it brings her comfort, let her have it," he said. "Why are you being so petty?"

Later, to ensure the widow felt "safe," he forced Lucia and me out of the main house and into the damp, unventilated underground bunker.

Trapped in the cold mold, my daughter developed a severe lung infection. She coughed all night, her small body burning with a fever.

Yet, Dante locked the family's medical cabinet. He refused to give us a single pill or inhaler.

"The winter flu is spreading. I need to keep the medicine in reserve for Matteo," he said coldly. "Lucia is older anyway. Tell her to endure it. We have to save the supplies for the heir."

Then came the day he severed my final thread of hope.

Alessia suddenly dropped to her knees in front of us, covering a perfectly faked red handprint on her cheek.

"Serena, it's my fault…" she sobbed, trembling like a leaf. "I'll take Matteo and leave. I won't be a thorn in your side anymore…"

Dante didn't ask me a single question.

He took one look at her tears and instantly branded me a jealous bitch bullying his brother's helpless widow. Without hesitation, he dragged me and my gasping daughter out of the estate.

Outside, the blizzard was merciless. Lucia, already incredibly weak from her illness, slipped into a coma.

Clutching her freezing body, I dropped to my knees at the heavy iron gates. I begged him for just a bite of food or a single dose of medicine.

Dante stood on the other side of the bars, his face like stone.

"The blizzard has cut off our supply lines. The family's resources must be prioritized for the heir," he said without an ounce of pity. "You made a mistake. Face the consequences."

Separated by a single door, I could clearly smell the roasted meat Alessia was cooking. Through the frosted glass, I saw the imported pastries laid out on the warm coffee table.

Then, Dante turned around and slammed the heavy iron door shut.

My knees bled onto the ice. Looking down, I realized that amidst my desperate begging, my daughter's chest had completely stopped moving.

She had died silently in my arms.

It snowed so heavily that night. I only remembered curling up in a snowdrift, using my failing body heat to hold her tight, before I closed my eyes for the last time.

Now, reborn.

The bone-chilling death and suffocating despair still lingered in my blood.

I gripped the handle of my luggage, my gaze hardening.

I would absolutely never let us repeat that nightmare.