THE REBIRTH OF ELENA

THE REBIRTH OF ELENA

last updateLast Updated : 2026-09-25
By:  NeetahOngoing
Language: English
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Elena Marchetti dies at twenty-six. A hand closes around her throat. Freezing harbor water fills her lungs. The man who should've saved her stands on the dock, just a few seconds too late. Then she wakes up. Sixteen again. Same house, same family, same future waiting to kill her all over. The Marchettis run one of the city's most dangerous crime families, and their power comes from an old leather ledger , a book that records every debt, marriage, and death like it's already decided. Elena's name is inside it. So is the day she dies. She's got ten years now to change that. The ledger belongs to Vittoria Marchetti, the matriarch who ordered Elena's death the first time and believes she's protecting the family by controlling its future. Her nephew Renzo, the one who actually did the killing, is already circling, waiting for another chance. Then there's Matteo — the son who should've inherited everything, until one mistake cost him his father's trust and his belief he's worth saving. He doesn't know Elena remembers his hands on her while she died, her name breaking in his voice as the water took her. She's carried that memory in a sixteen-year-old's body for months. He doesn't trust her. But something about her makes him want to try anyway. Elena has one real choice: trust the man who let her die once, or walk the same road and see if it kills her twice. Every move she makes to save herself puts someone else in danger instead. She's done letting others write her ending. She's going to rewrite it herself -- even if it means burning down everything her family has ever believed in.

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Chapter 1

THE REBIRTH

Soon after I closed the app, Antonio Carey called.

He stammered, asking if I got the cake.

I didn't hold back. "I got it. But it's got Clarisse and your name written on it."

He paused, his voice tinged with panic. "The bakery screwed up. I was signing contracts, so I had Clarisse order the cake. They must've mixed up your names."

I couldn't help but laugh. Without that post, I might've bought his excuse.

When I refreshed the feed, Clarisse's post was gone, but it was too late to mend.

I spoke calmly. "Alright. If there's nothing else, I'm hanging up."

Sensing I wasn't pushing, Antonio relaxed and started sweet-talking. "Don't worry. I'll get you a new cake. No mistakes this time, okay?"

"No need. It's late, and I'm not feeling great. I'm gonna rest now," I said, hanging up without waiting for his response.

Then I started sorting through the tangled web of interests from our three years of marriage.

If I were leaving, he wouldn't get a dime.

I was so focused that I didn't notice Antonio come home two hours early, cake in hand.

Seeing me on the couch, he flashed a smile. "Honey, I know it's that time of the month. Are your cramps acting up? My bad for forgetting something so important."

We had been married for three years, and Antonio always remembered my cycle. He even learned massage, claiming he studied with an expert for me.

Now I doubted it was just for me. Even those remembered dates felt like a scam.

Before he came home, I had received an anonymous text.

[Antonio is so sweet, always taking care of me, giving me massages.]

Attached were photos, shot from odd angles. No faces were shown, but the massaging hand wore a familiar wedding ring.

Clarisse couldn't show them on social media, so she turned to texts.

"Iva, I'm talking to you. Can you at least respond?" Antonio said, sounding annoyed. "The bakery messed up the cake, and I've got you a new one. I'm back early for our third anniversary. What are you upset about?"

His irritation snapped me out of my thoughts. He was upset because I hung up on him and wasn't responding to his groveling.

He rarely came home so early. He claimed it was for our anniversary, but in the past two years, he always had late-night excuses.

Now it was clear that he'd been tangled up with Clarisse for a long time.

I looked at him calmly. "I'm not upset. Just thinking about work."

He eyed me skeptically. "Really?"

I nodded.

Technically, that wasn't a lie. Once I sorted out work, I'd divorce him.

Antonio seemed relieved. He quickly opened the new cake and set it in front of me.

His gaze fell on the other cake with Clarisse's name, and he faltered, "I'm complaining to that bakery tomorrow."

He was about to toss it when his phone rang, stealing his attention.

I glanced over. The caller ID read Clary.

As Clarisse's voice came through, my already shattered heart felt trampled. My eyes stung, but I refused to show weakness in front of him.

On his phone, I was just Iva Grant. There were no cute nicknames.

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