Destroying The Mafia Boss

"I love you, please. Please choose me,” I begged, clutching at his feet before I even realized I’d fallen to my knees. My voice broke, trembling like my entire world depended on that moment — and it did.

Damon groaned in frustration, looking down at me like I was something he needed to scrape off his shoe. “Kaya… I’m getting married to your sister tomorrow. Look at you.” His eyes swept over me slowly, cruelly. “You’re fat, and you’re… ugly. Do you really think you deserve to be called my wife?”

His words cut deeper than knives. I felt them slice through the last piece of pride I had left. But even as he kicked me away to free his leg, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him.

I couldn’t.

I stared up at him — at the cold, beautiful face I loved so stupidly — and whispered, “I know you don’t mean that.”

He sighed, turning away, but I reached for him again. My hands shook. “Damon, please… you chose me first. You told my papa you wanted me, not Cecilia. You said I made you feel alive. Please remember—”

“Enough!” he shouted. The sound echoed through the marble hall, bouncing off the walls like thunder.

My heart stuttered.

He raked a hand through his hair, his voice lowering, but every word was colder. “Get yourself together, Kaya. I don’t love you. I don’t love anyone. This marriage is business. Your father and I have an agreement, and I chose Cecilia because she’s more… presentable. There are no strings attached.”

He started walking away, his footsteps heavy, final.

“Damon, please—don’t marry her!” I called out desperately, my voice cracking.

He stopped and turned, eyes hard with pity and disgust. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.” Then he left — leaving me standing among the candles and flowers I had arranged for what was supposed to be our engagement celebration.

The silence that followed was louder than his rejection.

I turned to the glass window and caught my reflection. My swollen eyes, my trembling lips, the stains on my dress.

And I understood.

He was right.

I was ugly. I was obese. I weighed one eighty pounds, my skin was covered in rashes, and my face — once adored by magazines — was almost unrecognizable.

Five months ago, I was a model. The face of Baddie Magazine. Every camera loved me. People called me a goddess. I had beauty, fame, everything. Until everything began to fade — my glow, my career, my friends… and now, the man I loved.

Tears blurred my reflection. “How did I become this?” I whispered.

I had lost my fiancé, my job, my father’s approval, and worst of all, myself.

The door creaked open.

Cecilia walked in — my perfect sister in her perfect white dress, the diamond on her finger glinting like mockery. She looked around, taking in the candles, the scattered flowers.

“What happened here?” she asked lightly, as if she didn’t already know.

I swallowed hard. “Cecilia…” I whispered.

She turned toward me, her brows raised, her perfume filling the air — sharp and expensive.

“You know I love Damon,” I said quickly, tears pooling again. “Please, let’s switch places tomorrow. You don’t love him, and I—”

The slap came before I finished.

My face stung, hot and wet. I stared at her, stunned, unable to believe she’d just done that.

Then she laughed — soft at first, then louder, crueler.

“You’ve really lost it,” she said, tilting her head. “You want me to hand over my fiancé to you? Are you insane?”

I blinked away the tears. “He wanted me first. You know that. He told Papa he wanted me.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s funny hearing you talk like that, Kaya. Do you even hear yourself? You really think you’d fit into a wedding gown looking like that? Fat pigs don’t dream of weddings.”

“Cecilia…” I started, but she was already heading for the door.

She stopped halfway and looked back, her lips curling into a smirk. “Stay away from Damon. He’s mine now.”

Then she slammed the door, and the sound broke something inside me.

The memory blurred as I lifted another bottle of alcohol to my lips. The room spun, the scent of roses and regret thick in the air.

They got married two weeks ago. Paris honeymoon. Lavish headlines. And me? I locked myself inside my apartment, drinking until I forgot how to feel.

When I tried to stand, my stomach burned — a stabbing pain that crawled up my chest and into my head. I hadn’t eaten in four days. The world tilted, and darkness swallowed me whole.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. White lights. Machines beeping.

Then I heard her voice. Cecilia’s.

“She’s still alive?” she said sharply into her phone. “Her surgery would cost millions, Damon. Don’t waste money on a useless pig like her.”

My eyes widened. My breath hitched.

She was talking to Damon.

And she was convincing him not to save me.

I stared at her, but she didn’t even glance my way. The woman I called sister — the one I loved and trusted — was discussing my death like a business deal.

I remembered then that I was adopted. Not her blood. Never truly her sister.

Hot tears slipped down my face. I wanted to scream, to ask her why. But my throat was too dry, my body too weak.

After she ended the call, a nurse came in. Cecilia asked, “When will she die? We shouldn’t waste hospital resources on her.”

She left without a glance back.

The tears wouldn’t stop this time. “Cecilia…” I whispered, my heart breaking one last time.

When I was finally able to fall asleep a shadow fell across me.

A man in a black mask stepped out of the darkness, holding a syringe. His voice was low, trembling with anger. “Your time’s over, Kaya. Just die, you fat, ugly bitch.”

The needle pierced my arm before I could fight. I screamed — a weak, fading sound. My vision blurred. The machines shrieked.

And then nothing.

I couldn’t feel my hands. Or my legs. My heartbeat slowed until it was just an echo.

In those last moments, I saw Damon’s face — the day we went to the beach. His hair dripping wet, his smile lazy and beautiful. That was the first time he laughed. That was the last memory I carried into death.

Then came the darkness.

A tall man dressed in black stood before me, a hood covering his face. Only shadows where his features should be.

“Poor thing,” his voice rumbled — deep, echoing, almost gentle.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“The Grim Reaper,” he said. “And you, Kaya Macherson, are in the land of the dead. But your story isn’t over yet.”

My breath caught.

“I’m giving you a second chance — five months,” he continued. “Avoid your death, make Damon Moretti fall in love with you, and uncover the one who killed you. Fail… and you’ll vanish forever.”

I stared at him, trembling. “Five months?”

His shadowy head nodded.

I straightened. “I won’t fail.”

The world spun again — blinding light, wind, and then—

My eyes flew open.

My bed. My pink, fluffy bed. The same one I’d slept in months before I died.

My phone lay beside me. I grabbed it with shaking hands. The date flashed on the screen: June 1st.

I had died October 1st.

I had just been given a fresh start.

Cecilia. Damon. My killer.

I’m coming.