Chapter 3
Since returning from that night's confrontation, I haven't been able to sleep. Not because of fear, but because of rage.
Riccardo's threats made me realize one truth—running away solves nothing. He'd chase me to the ends of the earth until he settles our score with his own hands.
If that's the case, why not strike first?
But first, I need to figure out what really happened in my past life...
Moonlight sliced through the window, cutting apart the silence of my private study.
I gripped the teacup tightly, my knuckles white. Sleep? For me, it was a luxury. Every time I closed my eyes, nightmares from my past life would flood in like a tide.
"Three years..." I murmured, my voice sounded particularly harsh in the empty study. "Three full years of hell."
In my mind, those painful memories rewound like a movie—
In my past life, I knelt on the cold marble floor, knees numb from kneeling, hands bound behind my back with rough rope that cut into my wrists until they were raw and bloody.
And Riccardo stood before me, his eyes devoid of any love I once thought existed, containing only bone-deep disgust.
"You betrayed the family, but I won't let you die easily," his voice was so cold it sent shivers down my spine.
"I never betrayed anyone!" I screamed desperately back then, my throat hoarse from prolonged crying, sounding like a broken bellows.
But he just smiled mockingly, kicked my chin with his leather shoe, and walked away.
From that day on, I became the Santoro family's "perfect wife"—a living corpse, displayed but never receiving even a trace of warmth from her husband.
He refused to share a bed, saying I was dirty. He humiliated me publicly, calling me a traitor's daughter. He cut off all affection, not even allowing me to speak more than three sentences to anyone.
Every night, I had to kneel outside his bedroom door until dawn, because "traitors don't deserve to sleep in beds." My knees would get torn up and heal, only to get torn up again.
At every family gathering, he would say in front of everyone: "Look, this is the consequence of betrayal. But I'm merciful—I let her live."
Three years. Three full years. I was like a caged canary kept for others' amusement, praying every day for death to come quickly.
He treated me as his enemy, yet demanded I be his perfect wife. Like keeping a pet specifically for the pleasure of torture.
My hands began to tremble, the teacup clinking softly against the saucer. Those memories cut through my heart like knives, every detail clear enough to suffocate me.
Just then, the study door was gently pushed open. The butler handed me a leather envelope.
"Miss Corleone, someone asked me to deliver this to you."
I took the envelope, and in an instant, my blood turned to ice.
FBI contact records.
The exact same evidence as in my past life, even the paper creases were identical.
"No... impossible..." The words barely squeezed through my gritted teeth.
My phone suddenly rang. It was my father calling.
"Bianca, get to the conference room immediately." His voice was terrifyingly cold, then he hung up directly.
I looked at the evidence in my hands, my heart sank. It seemed I wasn't the only one who received this.
The Corleone family conference room was filled with suffocating tension.
My father's face was ashen as he slammed the FBI contact record heavily on the table. "Bianca, explain this."
That questioning look, that disappointed tone—everything was exactly the same as in my past life. I felt dizzy, as if pushed back into the deepest part of a nightmare.
"This... this is impossible, I never..." My voice trembled, but this time not from fear—from rage.
"The Santoro family already knows. If this is true..." my father's voice carried a warning.
The same evidence, the same timing. They wanted to replay everything from my past life.
"Enough!" I shot to my feet, my eyes burning with unprecedented fire. "I'm sick of this game!"
My father started, clearly not expecting such an intense reaction from me.
"What game? Bianca, what are you talking about?"
I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. In the world of the mafia, being emotional meant death.
"Father, I need some time to handle this matter."
"Time?" My father sneered. "You think the Santoro family will give you time?"
My gaze turned cold as steel: "Then let them come."
After leaving the conference room, I sent Tony a text directly: [Meet at the usual place, urgent.]
In the abandoned warehouse at Brooklyn docks, the sea breeze carried a fishy, salty smell.
Tony was the most loyal veteran under my father's command. A knife scar ran from his left eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, making him look particularly fierce. But when he saw me, his eyes flashed with pure loyalty.
"Miss, just tell us what to do. We'll follow your lead."
"Tony, I need your help." My voice was firm and strong. "Someone is framing me."
"Who dares?" Tony instinctively reached for the gun at his waist.
"I don't know, but I'll find out." My eyes flickered with dangerous light. "Find the real source of that evidence from back then. In our line of work, being suspected is a death sentence."
Tony nodded: "How many men do you need?"
"The fewer the better. The family can't know about this."
This time, I wouldn't wait passively for death. Since they wanted to play dirty, I'd use the same methods to prove my innocence.
Just as we were discussing plan details, my phone rang. The screen showed the house number.
"Miss Corleone must return immediately. There are visitors," the butler's voice was tense.
"What visitors?"
"People from the Santoro family."
Tony and I exchanged glances, both our faces growing grave.
"So fast..." I gritted my teeth. "Looks like the war has already begun."
I hurried home and dealt with the Santoro family's envoys—ostensibly there to check on my health, but actually probing my attitude. I maintained my composure throughout, revealing no flaws.
By the time they left, it was already late at night. I needed to go to the safe house Tony mentioned to confirm some important documents.
Just as I started the car to leave, I noticed a white envelope on the passenger seat.
My heart stopped.
No one could enter my car silently unless...
With trembling hands, I tore open the envelope. Inside was just one piece of paper with blood-red text:
[Stop your little schemes, or you'll die miserably.]
I instantly felt a chill.
They knew I was investigating!
The thought made my blood run cold. I had only discussed the investigation plan with Tony this afternoon, and tonight I received a threat letter. Besides Tony, no one knew about my plan to investigate the evidence.
But Tony had served my father for over ten years—he would never betray us.
That left only one explanation—there was a mole in the family, and positioned high enough to monitor my every move at any time.
I surveyed my surroundings. The dark street seemed peaceful, but I knew countless eyes were watching my every move from the shadows.
"Very well." I crumpled the paper into a ball, my eyes flashing with murderous intent. "Since you want to play this game, bring it on."
Since you want my life, then come and take it. This time, I'm going on the offensive.
