Save Your Sweetheart, I’ll Bury You Instead

When I woke up again, the air was torn apart by the staccato crack of gunfire.

I gasped for air, my trembling hands instinctively flying down to shield my belly.

I had been reborn. I was four months pregnant—exactly when Luca’s "first love" had conspired with a rival syndicate to ambush our estate.

In my previous life, the moment the shooting started, I hadn't hesitated. I immediately dialed my husband, the Don of the family.

To protect the heir growing inside me, he had decisively dragged me out of the line of fire first.

But the price was steep. His beloved Isabella took a bullet straight to the heart in the chaos, dying instantly.

Afterward, with bloodshot eyes, he told me he didn't blame me. He even stepped away from the mafia empire, remaining at the estate to play the perfect husband, solely to ensure I had a safe delivery.

I believed him. Until the day I gave birth.

During the sacred baptism in the family chapel, he tore off his mask and personally sent both me and our infant son to hell.

In my final moments, I would never forget the look in his eyes—a hatred that burned down to the bone.

"If it weren't for you, she never would have died," he had said, his voice ice-cold as I lay in a pool of my own blood. "She bled out that day. You and this bastard will bleed twice as much today."

So this time, listening to the hail of bullets outside, I didn't reach out to Luca for help.

I couldn't stomach begging the man who had murdered me.

The explosion left my ears ringing, and the acrid mix of smoke and gunpowder made me choke back tears.

I was pinned to the floor by a fallen crossbeam. Shoving it off, I scrambled to my feet, my palms slick with blood. The firefight was still raging in the front hall. Bullets shattered the windows, sending shards of stone flying.

Bracing myself against the wall, I bolted toward the back door. The baby was kicking fiercely.

Suddenly, a sharp, twisting pain tore through my abdomen. My legs gave out, and I crashed back onto the floor.

Panting, I pulled out my phone, the screen spiderwebbed with cracks. First in my contacts was a name that glared back at me—My Don Luca.

My finger hovered over it for just a second.

In that fleeting moment, memories of my past life assaulted me.

I saw Luca's frantic face as he carried me out of the inferno; I saw his red-rimmed eyes by my hospital bed as he whispered, "As long as the baby is safe." And then, I saw him butcher me and our child without blinking, my blood splattering across his face.

I remembered the six months after Isabella died. He spent every night locked inside his study, drinking in the dark while staring at her photo until dawn.

He had said he didn't blame me. But I knew he hated me—hated me so much that not even the life of his own flesh and blood could appease his grief.

My finger slid past his name. I scrolled down. I stopped on another—Nico Vitale.

He was the underboss of a rival faction within the family and Luca's fiercest rival in the syndicate. When he heard about my marriage to Luca, he had nearly drawn his gun on him at a meeting of the Commission.

I hit dial.

It rang twice before he picked up. The background was a chaotic roar of gunfire and shouting men.

"It's me, Alicia," I said, my voice deadpan. "Get to the backyard. I need a way out."

A second of silence. "Wait there."

A bullet whizzed past my ear, splintering the doorframe. I crouched tight against the wall, curling into a ball.

I didn't know how long it was before the gunfire suddenly intensified. Someone yelled, "The Don is here!"

I raised my head. Through the smoke, I saw two black SUVs smash into the compound. The door of the lead vehicle swung open violently.

It was Luca.

He was wearing his signature black trench coat, a gun gripped tightly in his hand. Bullets ricocheted wildly just inches away, but he didn't even flinch. He walked straight into the heart of the battlefield like the Grim Reaper himself.

But he wasn't walking toward me.

I followed his gaze, and my heart seized.

Isabella. Seeing Luca, she burst into tears and threw her arms open, rushing toward him.

"It's over, I've got you," Luca said, catching her. He stripped off his own Kevlar vest and wrapped it around her.

I opened my mouth, trying to call out to him, but no sound came out.

Right then, a stray bullet tore through the air. I didn't see where it came from, only felt a sudden, searing heat in my abdomen as the impact knocked me backward.

A dark red stain began to blossom on my clothes.

Blood. I had been hit.

The agony hit me like a physical blow, as if someone had shoved a hand inside my stomach and twisted violently. I clamped my hands over the wound, feeling the warm liquid immediately soak through my fingers.

The baby. My baby.

"Luca..." I finally choked out, my voice so raw it didn't even sound like me.

He glanced in my direction, then wrapped an arm around Isabella and led her toward the armored SUV.

I watched as he carefully shielded her, settling her into the backseat. From start to finish, he never looked my way again.

I struggled, trying to pull myself up, only to collapse back down.

"Help me..." I pleaded, reaching out a bloody hand toward one of his nearby soldiers.

The man looked down at me. He clearly recognized me as the Don's wife, yet his eyes were so cold he didn't lift a finger.

"The baby... save my baby..."

"The baby?" More men walked up behind him, and one of them let out a harsh laugh. "Did you think about the baby when you were feeding intel to the enemy, ma’am?"

I froze. "What?"

"Cut the act," another one sneered, kicking a piece of rubble near my foot. "The boss is already looking into it. Did you really think you could hide it?"

"It wasn't me..."

"Whether it was or wasn't, we'll see when the Don gets back." The man crouched down, using the barrel of his gun to lift my chin. "But honestly, ma’am, you’ve got some nerve. Pulling a stunt like this while carrying the heir, and now playing the victim?"

"Drop the act, ma’am. The boss only cares about Isabella, everyone in the family knows that. You'd better pray she lives, or else..."

My consciousness began to blur, the whispers around me fading into a low hum.