The Bodyguard I Abused Became My Husband

Catherine's POV

As the only daughter of a mafia family, I learned early that trust doesn't come cheap. When my father got sick, he gave me an ultimatum: if I want to take over the family, I have to get married first.

Everyone assumed I'd pick my childhood friend, Vincent Moretti—son of my father's right-hand man. Hell, even I thought so. Until my last life, when he left me to burn.

Father died in an ambush. I was trapped in a metal cage at an abandoned dock warehouse while flames swallowed everything. I begged Vincent for help. He stood thirty feet away, the cage key right by his feet.

"Cat, as long as your father's alive, he'll never give me the family. This isn't personal. It's business."

Sophia was wrapped around him—my so-called best friend. She smiled at me and said she'd take good care of everything.

Before I lost consciousness, I saw a figure in black charging into the flames—Elijah, the bodyguard I'd called "trash" and "a dog."

Then I opened my eyes and woke up a month before my birthday party. This time, I'm giving that position to someone who actually deserves it.

But why is Vincent on his knees at my engagement party, crying and begging me to marry him?

"Ahh—!"

I bolt upright, chest heaving.

This isn't charred ruins. It's my bedroom. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I see the estate's rose garden in the morning sun.

I'm alive?

I lift my hand. No burn marks on my fingers. The calendar on the nightstand says May tenth.

One month before Father's assassination.

One month before my twenty-second birthday party, where I'm supposed to announce my engagement.

Someone knocks at the door. Low, controlled. "Miss Russo, time to get up. Mr. Moretti's waiting for you downstairs. Wants to have breakfast."

Elijah.

Hearing that name makes my heart clench. In my last life, I treated him like he was invisible, like a tool, like a punching bag. But in the end, he was the only one who ran into the fire.

"Come in." I keep my voice steady.

The door opens. Elijah walks in wearing a black suit, his face blank. His eyes stay respectful but distant, like he's afraid to look at me too long.

"Mr. Moretti brought your favorite croissants," he says. "And a latte from your usual spot."

I stare at his face—no burn scars yet—and my throat tightens.

But I can't lose it.

Right now, Elijah's just my bodyguard. If I act too weird, I'll spook him and make Vincent suspicious.

"Miss Russo?" Elijah notices something's off. He glances up quickly, then drops his gaze. "You okay? Need me to get the doctor?"

"No." I throw off the covers and get out of bed, my voice flat. "Tell Vincent to fuck off. I don't want to see him today. Those croissants make me want to puke."

Elijah freezes.

He probably remembers that just yesterday, I was picking out ties for Vincent and planning where we'd honeymoon after our engagement. I believed everything Vincent said. Gave him everything he wanted.

"I..." He hesitates.

"Didn't you hear me?" I look at myself in the mirror, a cold smile crossing my face. "Starting today, I don't want to hear Vincent Moretti's name. Everything he sends over—throw it out."

Elijah looks confused, but his training kicks in and he drops his head immediately. "Yes, Miss Russo."

My phone buzzes on the nightstand. The screen lights up with a text from Vincent:

Cat, still sleeping? Sophia's here too. She wants to borrow that midnight blue designer dress of yours. Give it to her later, okay?

In my last life, I handed over that dress without a second thought. It was Father's gift for my twenty-first birthday—custom-made to show I was the Russo heir. She wore my dress to a charity gala and turned every head in the room while I stood in the corner like an idiot, clapping for her.

Okay?

Vincent Moretti, this time around, I'll show you what "okay" really means.

I grab my phone, power it off, and toss it on the bed.

"Elijah," I say, watching him through the mirror. "Get the car ready. I'm going to the private shooting range."

"Yes, Miss Russo."

"And one more thing." I turn around, looking straight at him. Speaking slowly. "You're training me yourself today. One-on-one."