Rebirth: The Devil’s Lunatic

Verona, Italy

The cold water hit the young woman's bare skin first.

It soaked through the thin white hospital dress she wore, sticking to her trembling frame. Strapped tightly to a metallic operating table inside the padded treatment room, heavy leather restraints dug into her wrists and ankles.

She did not fight them, she had stopped fighting the asylum staff after her second year.

"Increase the current," Doctor Vane ordered from above her. His tone was as casual as if he were ordering coffee.

A sharp surge of electricity tore through her body. Her muscles locked up instantly, her back arching against the cold metal as air was starved from her lungs. Yet, she clamped her teeth together.

She did not scream.

"Look at her," an orderly muttered with a light chuckle, adjusting his white scrubs. "Not even a sound. She really is completely insane."

"She’s not insane, she’s just stubborn," Doctor Vane replied, looking down at her through his glass visor. "Do you have any idea how much your father pays this asylum every month, Ileana? The Bellucci family gives us a fortune to keep you locked away in this mental institution. They want you broken. They want you forgotten."

The mention of her father's name brought no reaction to Ileana's eyes. The pain of betrayal had burned out long ago, leaving only empty ash.

They mistook her silence for madness. They did not understand that after five years of enduring beatings, ice baths, and electric shocks, she had simply learned that screaming changed nothing.

No one was coming. Her former fiancé had moved on with her stepsister, her father had erased her, and the world had moved on.

Another charge shot through the wires, harsher this time. Her vision turned black at the edges. Her heart fluttered erratically inside her chest, struggling to keep a rhythm.

Ileana.

In the quiet darkness of her mind, she thought of her mother. Ana-Maria had chosen that name for her before she died, telling her stories of a legendary Romanian heroine—a woman of courage, beauty, and absolute strength.

‘Mama wanted me to be strong,’ Ileana thought, as a single tear slipped past her eyelashes. ‘I'm sorry, Mama. I tried. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I wish I was strong enough to fight. I wish I was strong enough to make them pay.’

Her heart gave one last, weak twitch—and then stopped.

"Wait," the orderly said, his voice dropping as he looked at the medical monitor. "The heart rate flatlined."

Doctor Vane frowned, pressing two fingers against the side of her neck. "Charge it again. Two hundred."

They pressed the defibrillator pads to her chest. Her body jolted, but her heart remained completely still.

"Nothing," the orderly whispered. "Doctor... she's gone."

Doctor Vane pulled off his rubber gloves with a quiet sigh. "Clean up the mess. Call Vittorio Bellucci and tell him his daughter has finally given up."

Bucharest, Romania

Meanwhile, another woman was walking briskly down a polished corridor.

"Elena, you have to stop. I am ordering you as your friend, not your assistant."

Andrei’s sharp footsteps followed right behind her. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of Bucharest stretched into the night, but Elena did not glance at them. She held several files in her hands—reports on shipping lines and syndicate operations across Europe.

"I don't need to stop, Andrei," Elena said without slowing her pace. Her voice was calm and steady. "We have two shipments arriving in Rome by morning, and the board meeting is at eight."

"You haven't slept in three days!" Andrei stepped in front of her, forcing her to halt. His eyes were filled with deep frustration and concern. "You built an empire from nothing, Elena. You run the most feared assassin syndicate in Eastern Europe and a billion-dollar company. You've won every war you ever fought. Let the team handle the search for your family."

Elena looked at him, feeling a heavy pressure behind her eyes.

"I can't leave it to them, Andrei," she said softly. She dropped the files onto a side table and leaned slightly against the wall. "I can conquer companies. I can eliminate any enemy in my way. I can make millions in an afternoon. But I still don't know who I am. I don't know my mother's name. I only have fragmented memories of her... memories of playing with a gold necklace around her neck. And I just recently found out that I was born in Italy. That's all I know."

"We will find them," Andrei promised quietly. "Just rest for a few hours."

"No. Not until I have an answer."

Elena stepped past him and opened the heavy doors to her private office. She walked over to her desk, intending to reach for her glass of water, but a wave of intense dizziness hit her.

The room tilted. Her lungs failed to pull in air, and her legs buckled beneath her weight.

Elena collapsed onto the hardwood floor.

"Elena!"

Andrei burst into the room and dropped to his knees beside her, lifting her head. "Elena! Look at me! Stay open!" he shouted in panic. "Call an ambulance! Someone get in here now!"

Footsteps echoed frantically in the hallway as staff rushed inside. Hands pulled at her clothes, checking her pulse and trying to pump air into her chest.

Elena wanted to tell Andrei to calm down. She wanted to command her body to stand up, to keep searching, to keep fighting. But for the first time in twenty-eight years, her body refused to obey. The sheer exhaustion of a lifetime spent surviving had finally caught up to her.

Her vision faded completely. Andrei’s panicked voice turned into muffled silence.

Her breathing stopped. Her pulse flatlined.

The legendary leader of the European underworld died alone on her office floor, killed by the weight of her own tired heart.

In Italy, a young woman died in a psychiatric asylum believing she was weak, forgotten, and unloved.

In Romania, another woman died believing she would never find the family she had spent her life searching for.

Neither woman knew that for one of them, death was not the end—and for the other, she might just get the revenge she secretly wanted.