Reborn as the Mafia King's Wife

"Happy birthday, Violet. Don't you want to blow out the candles… before they burn down?"

Before I could react, Lucas Campbell struck the match and brought the flame to my hair.

It caught instantly. Heat roared across my scalp, the fire devouring every strand like a predator that had tasted blood. The smell was acrid, thick, suffocating. My scream tore out of me, raw and animal, as I collapsed to the floor, thrashing, trying to smother the blaze with my own body.

Julia stood at Lucas's side, her hand hooked around his arm. Her lip curled in disgust. "God, she's loud."

"Want me to make her shut up?" Lucas's voice was almost tender as he kissed Julia's forehead. Then his fingers clamped hard around my jaw, forcing my mouth open. I felt the cold rush of mercury spill down my throat, metallic and burning.

"Your hair's ruined. You look hideous…" His eyes roved over me, not with pity, but fascination.

Then he began to pull. Fistfuls of scorched hair ripped free from my scalp. Pain exploded in white-hot bursts, my body convulsing under the assault—yet no sound came out. My voice was gone, stolen by agony.

Only when the last strands were gone did he stop. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his hands over and over as if my touch had contaminated him. "Disgusting."

I lay sprawled on the cold floor, lungs clawing for air, eyes locked on the front door.

Lucas's voice cut through my daze. "Stop staring. Clifford isn't coming."

A shiver ran through me. I turned toward him, this man who wore the face I loved but the soul of a demon.

He smiled, slow and cruel. "Did you forget? You shot him. With the gun he gave you to keep you safe.

"One bullet tore through his heart. Three days he lay in that hospital bed, clinging to life, every breath a battle. And with the last of his strength, the only thing he ever said… was your name."

Lucas tilted his head, savoring my disbelief. "And in case you never figured it out—the one who killed your father wasn't Clifford. It was me. Me and Julia. I never loved you. Not once. You were just a means to an end—a pawn I played, so I could drag Clifford under and watch him drown."

My stomach twisted. Lucas, the man I had once loved. Julia, raised by my own Chambers family. Together, they had destroyed me.

In the haze of pain, Clifford Gutierrez's face rose in my mind. Head of the Gutierrez family, the most feared mafia in Veridian. A name whispered in Frosthaven like a curse. And he had died because of me.

Tears burned hot down my cheeks. Regret was a blade twisting in my chest. If I could go back, I'd never trust those two again. I'd never hurt Clifford.

Pain surged again, dragging me into consciousness. I opened my eyes… and saw them. Eyes the color of blood, burning with fury barely contained.

Clifford?

It had to be an illusion. It couldn't be him.

"Clifford…" My voice trembled over his name.

His hand closed around my wrist, strong enough to bruise. "You cut your wrist to force me into a divorce? For Lucas?"

Cut my wrist? Divorce? The words jolted me. This scene—it was familiar. Too familiar.

It was the day I'd stormed into the Gutierrez family's council meeting, shoving divorce papers in front of him. He refused. I smashed a wine bottle, used the jagged glass to slice my own wrist.

Had I… gone back?

I looked around. The room was filled with the Gutierrez elders, their eyes sharp and watchful.

"You're not answering." Clifford's grip tightened. The pain was sharp, glass shards lodged in my skin.

I looked up into his face, the anger carved deep there. Tears blurred my vision. It was real. I was here. I was back.

"Clifford…" My voice broke as I threw myself into his arms. "Thank God you're still here…"

His body went rigid before he shoved me back. "What game are you playing now, Violet?"

"I'm not…" His guarded eyes cut into me, and my chest ached. Because I remembered. I remembered believing Lucas and Julia when they told me Clifford had stolen the Chambers empire, murdered my father Robbie Chambers. From the day I married him, I avoided him like a plague.

I wanted to slap myself. But now… now I had a second chance.

"I'm not divorcing you. I'm not leaving." My arms locked around his waist. "I was wrong. Don't let me go."

Tears slid down my cheeks. Clifford's brow furrowed as his thumb brushed them away. "Don't cry, Violet. It hurts me."

He had always been like this. No matter what I did, no matter how deep the betrayal, he never raised his voice at me. Even when I drove a bullet into his heart, he had only whispered, "My Little Rose… you've finally blossomed. And now you dare to kill me."

Memories crashed over me, each one a wave breaking against my ribs.

"Then hold me," I whispered.

His pupils flared, as if my request was something rare, something precious. He pulled me close, then lifted me into his arms.

"Clifford, we're still in the middle of the meeting," Drew, the captain, called out.

Clifford stopped, his gaze sweeping the room. "Nothing matters more than Violet."

Drew opened his mouth to argue, but Clifford's boot slammed into a chair, sending it skidding across the floor. Silence fell.

He carried me back to the Gutierrez Mansion, calling for Tony Gibson, his personal doctor.

The wound wasn't deep enough to sever an artery, but shards of glass glittered inside. Tony worked carefully, but each touch sent shocks of pain up my arm.

"Be gentle," Clifford snapped, voice low and dangerous. "Can't you see she's in pain?"

Tony's hands shook. Clifford's glare darkened. I caught his hand, trying to calm him. "I'm fine."

Finally, Tony finished and bowed his head. "No water on the wound for a few days."

Tony left. Clifford turned to go.

I caught his shirt. "You said you wouldn't leave me."

He paused, eyes locked on mine. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He sat beside me, calloused fingers tracing my cheek. "Violet, I'm not agreeing to a divorce. You don't need to win me over."

"I'm not trying to." My arms looped around his neck, my lips finding his.

I felt the shift in his body, the heat. My fingers moved to his belt.

He caught my hands, pushing me back. "Rest. I'll come later."

He left quickly, almost as if fleeing. But I had felt it—he wanted me.

I sighed. I'd take my time. No one would believe I could go from hating him to loving him overnight.

Lying there, I thought of ways to make him believe me. Sleep crept in.

When I woke, the sky was dark. I reached for my phone. Messages from Julia and Lucas blinked on the screen.

Julia: [Did Clifford agree to the divorce?]

Lucas: [Sweetheart, why didn't you answer my calls? Did he hurt you again?]

Lucas: [If he won't let you go, I'll take you away. I'll fight the whole world if I have to. I can't live without you.]

My lips curled. I typed back: [Then go die.]

I'd learned my lesson. This time, I would stay with Clifford—through winters that bit at the skin, summers heavy with the scent of grass, dinners lit by the warm glow of the kitchen, and years that passed in the hush of ordinary days.

"It hurts..."

The thought had barely formed when a sound floated in from the hallway—a low, breathless gasp, unmistakably feminine.

For a moment I wondered if I'd imagined it. But then it came again, sharper this time, threading through the air like a whisper meant to be overheard.

Could Clifford be… watching something to ease himself?

I didn't even stop for shoes. My heart was pounding as I crossed the floor in quick, urgent strides, drawn toward that voice.

And then I saw it—and her—and the breath caught in my throat.

Rosa Russell was easing her shirt over her shoulders, the fabric whispering against her skin, while Clifford stood with his back to her, oblivious.