Shot by My Mafia King Again

The sensation of death was still spreading through me.

I jerked awake with a strangled scream caught in my throat, gasping for air like a drowning victim. My heart hammered against my ribs as if it might explode, and I broke out in a cold sweat instantly.

Was I dead? Or still alive?

I frantically felt around my forehead, searching for the bullet hole that should have been there, the mark left by Riccardo's gun!

My husband from my previous life. The heir to the Santoro family. The man who once whispered "I love you" so tenderly, only to pull the trigger with cold-blooded precision.

But my fingers found only intact skin—warm, living flesh.

"No, no, no..." I sat up trembling, hands frantically searching my body. "Where's the blood? The wound? I clearly remember..."

The gunshot still echoed in my ears. That crushing despair of life slipping away remained as vivid as yesterday. I could even recall the metallic taste of blood, could feel that icy void as consciousness faded.

So why could I still think? Why could I still feel my heartbeat?

I blinked furiously, pinching my arm hard enough to make tears spring to my eyes. The pain was so real it almost made me cry.

"I'm alive... I'm alive!"

But how was this possible? I clearly remembered that gunshot, Riccardo's emotionless face, the feeling of my heart stopping...

I stumbled toward the mirror, and my reflection stared back—pale, terrified, confused. But this face... this young face...

"Twenty-two?" I whispered with a trembling voice. "But I was twenty-five... I was already..."

The phone on my nightstand lit up: October 15th, 2019. 7:30 PM.

That date hit me like lightning.

Three years ago.

The night of the engagement banquet.

The night everything began to fall apart.

I collapsed to the floor, arms wrapped around my head, entire body shaking violently. Rebirth? It sounded insane! But I couldn't think of any other explanation.

"Miss, are you alright?" A maid's concerned voice came from outside the door. "Mr. Corleone is waiting for you downstairs. The banquet starts at eight."

My blood turned to ice. I remembered now—tonight, Father would introduce me to the Santoro heir. The man who would eventually murder me.

"I... I'll be down shortly," I managed to croak out, my voice barely recognizable.

"Shall I help you choose a dress? Tonight is very important for the Corleone family."

Important? What a joke. Tonight was the prologue to my life's tragedy, the first step toward a deadly abyss.

The footsteps faded, and I slumped in the vanity chair.

Whether this was a dream, hallucination, or God's mercy, I would never repeat those mistakes. Never again would I fall for that cold-blooded killer.

I had to change everything.

But first, I had to survive tonight.

Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stay calm. Since I'd returned to this night, I had to face it. But this time, I wouldn't be led to slaughter like an innocent lamb.

"Miss, Mr. Corleone is asking for you again," the maid called with obvious anxiety.

I looked at my reflection and quickly composed my expression. Tonight, I would perform—a performance to convince everyone I was still that obedient Corleone princess.

Thirty minutes later, the Corleone estate's ballroom blazed with light.

Crystal chandeliers cast warm golden light while a string quartet played gentle waltzes. Elegantly dressed guests sipped champagne and made polite conversation. Everything was exactly as I remembered from my past life—perfect and utterly false.

"Bianca, come here. I want to introduce you to someone special."

Father wore his typical merchant's fake smile, his hand on my shoulder carrying undeniable authority. I was guided toward the center of the crowd, where a tall figure stood waiting.

A black bespoke suit, perfect proportions, features carved like a sculpture. When that man slowly turned around, my breath nearly stopped.

Riccardo Santoro.

At twenty-eight, he was in his prime, with an aura of born authority and dangerous charisma. When those dark eyes swept over me, images of my previous death crashed over me like a tidal wave—

"You betrayed the family, Bianca."

The cold barrel of the gun.

The explosive gunshot.

Blood flowing everywhere.

"No!" I instinctively stepped back, my face went white.

Damn it! I thought I could control myself, but seeing him again shattered everything!

The ballroom fell silent, all eyes turning to me. Father's face darkened immediately, his eyes flashing with warning.

"Miss Corleone?" Riccardo's brow furrowed, his voice deep and magnetic. "Are you feeling unwell?"

He stepped forward, extending his hand as if to steady me. That same hand had held the gun that ended my life. I shook violently, nearly screaming.

"I suddenly feel sick. I need to use the restroom," I said quickly, my voice trembling terribly. "Sorry for disrupting everything."

Without waiting for anyone's response, I turned and fled, ignoring the whispers behind me and Father's furious calls.

The corridor outside the ballroom was dim and cold, with only a few wall sconces casting weak light. I leaned against the wall, gasping, trying to calm the panic in my heart.

I did it. I escaped that man, escaped the "love at first sight" trap from my previous life.

As long as I kept avoiding him, kept refusing this arranged marriage, maybe I could change my fate.

Soft footsteps echoed behind me.

I spun around, heart nearly leaping from my chest. At the far end of the corridor, Riccardo's figure appeared like a ghost, his tall frame particularly menacing in the darkness.

"Why did you follow me out here?" I backed away, fear evident in my voice.

"Your reaction to me in the ballroom... it was strange," Riccardo said slowly, approaching with eyes as deep as bottomless whirlpools.

Each step made my heart pound. I pressed against the cold wall, struggling to stay composed. "I'm just not feeling well. Nothing more."

"Is that so?" He stopped three feet away, head tilted slightly, gaze piercing. "But your reaction... reminded me of something. A sense of déjà vu."

Those words hit like lightning. I stared in shock.

"What are you talking about?" I forced myself to sound calm, but my trembling voice betrayed my inner turmoil.

Riccardo didn't answer, just quietly studied me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. The silence was deafening, filled only with our rapid breathing.

After what felt like eternity, he stepped back and adjusted his suit collar.

"Perhaps I'm overthinking." His tone returned to polite distance, but those eyes remained locked on me. "However, Miss Corleone, since both families have arranged tonight's meeting, I believe... we'll see each other again."

With that, he turned and left, leaving me trembling alone in the corridor.

What did he mean by that?

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Whatever the families had arranged, I would never again become that man's sacrifice.

This lifetime, I would completely rewrite the ending.