Reborn to Reject the Mafia Boss

Serena's POV

"Serena! Are you deaf, or just fucking stupid today?"

The sharp snarl snapped me awake.

My eyes flew open. The blurred edges of the mahogany study slowly sharpened into focus.

Resting on the desk in front of me was a coiled, yellowed parchment—the most sacred blood-oath in the New York underworld. A signature and a thumbprint in blood, and two Mafia syndicates would be chained together for life.

I turned my head. Matteo stood over me, his jaw tight, eyes burning with arrogant irritation. And hovering in the shadows just behind him was his pathetic, sickly-sweet stepsister, Anna.

Meeting those wide, green eyes—swimming in fake innocence and poorly hidden jealousy—my head spun.

I was back.

Reborn on the exact day that originally sealed my damnation: the signing ceremony of our marriage pact.

"Look, Serena, I know you're pissed about Anna moving into the main estate, but today is about the families. Lose the attitude," Matteo sneered, yanking at his silk tie. "She had a nightmare, alright? She was terrified. I sat by her bed for one fucking night. Are you seriously throwing a tantrum over this right now? The elders are out in the parlor waiting."

A bitter laugh scraped my throat. "A tantrum? You spent the eve of our blood pact in another woman's bed, and what, I'm just supposed to smile?"

In my past life, on this exact day, I had completely lost my mind. The revelation that Matteo had spent the night in Anna's bed had shattered me.

I screamed. I cried.

But out of some twisted illusion of love, and a misguided sense of duty to my family, I ultimately picked up the pen.

I signed my life away to the devil, thinking loyalty and competence would earn me his heart.

But I was so fucking wrong.

After the wedding, Matteo's disgusting, greedy nature bled through. He needed me—the razor-sharp, ruthless wife—to run his underground casinos and bleach his dirty money clean. To smile at the FBI agents trying to tear our doors down.

Yet, he craved weak, dependent little Anna to stroke his ego.

He moved her into our estate, claiming he needed to "protect his fragile sister." They fucked under my roof. They fucked in my marital bed. Whenever I confronted him, he'd puff his chest out, completely devoid of shame.

"Jesus Christ, Serena, you're the Donna of this family! Show some fucking grace, will you? Anna is delicate. She's got nothing. Nobody but me. And you? You have everything!"

Everything. Right up until the Italian restaurant massacre.

When the rival cartel kicked down the doors, the air filled with the deafening roar of automatic fire. I was standing inches from Matteo. But in that split second, he dove across the room, tackling Anna to the marble floor to shield her.

I was left standing there. A perfect human shield.

Three bullets tore through my chest.

Lying in my own blood, gasping for air, I watched my husband frantically check an uninjured Anna for scratches.

He never even looked my way.

I felt no pain in those final seconds—only a blinding, venomous hatred.

"Listen to me," Matteo's harsh voice yanked me back. He choked back his temper, switching to his usual patronizing bullshit. "Look, I'll make it up to you, okay? I'll buy you that Cartier bracelet you wanted. Just sign the damn paper. The Capos are drinking our Cristal and losing their patience. Plus, Anna is exhausted. Let's just wrap this up so she can get some rest."

I looked down at the blank line for the Bride.

Last time, because of this cheap, toxic imitation of a marriage, I had shredded my acceptance letter from Columbia Law School.

I had buried my brilliant mind in the bloody trenches of the Cosa Nostra.

Not this time. I would rather swallow shattered glass than repeat that life.

"Serena... please, don't be mad at him," Anna stepped up, biting her trembling lip perfectly on cue. "It was my fault. I was just... so scared of the dark last night. And Matteo, he's... he's just too kind-hearted. Please don't let my panic attacks ruin your special day. I'm really sorry."

She cast a pitiful, watery glance up at Matteo.

Right on schedule, his eyes darkened with primal protectiveness. He stepped intentionally between us.

"Enough." Matteo glared at me. "Drop the spoiled mob-princess act, Serena. You know exactly what this alliance means. Without my guys backing you up, the Russians will carve up your father's docks in a week. So don't play games you can't fucking win."

I stared at his hostile face. Then, the tension in my chest just vanished.

A serene, genuine smile touched my lips.

"You're right," I said quietly. "I'll sign it."

Since they loved each other so much, and Matteo wanted to play the savior so badly, who was I to stand in the way? I'd give them exactly what they deserved.

Without a single tremor, I grabbed the heavy gold pen. I pressed the nib to the thick parchment.

But the name I wrote on the bride's line wasn't Serena.

In elegant, sweeping cursive, I wrote: Anna.

"Done."

I rolled up the parchment, snapped the leather tie around it, and casually tossed it at Matteo's chest.

He snatched it out of the air. In his impatience, he didn't even bother to check the signature.

"Fucking finally. You always have to make it hard, don't you?" he scoffed, completely dismissing me. He wrapped a heavy arm around Anna's waist and turned his back. "Come on, baby. Let's go."

As the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, the room suddenly felt incredibly light.

I grabbed my camel coat and walked out the side exit, bypassing the parlor entirely.

Pushing open the iron-wrought doors, the frigid New York wind hit my face like a physical blow. I took a deep, freezing breath. The air tasted sharp and clean.

Winter was here, but my life was finally blossoming into spring.

That Columbia Law letter was still sitting perfectly crisp in my drawer. This time, I was going to fly so high these bottom-feeders wouldn't even see my shadow.

Fuck the Mafia.

And fuck love.