Fiora
In my last life, I single-handedly wiped out a rival gang, winning great honor for the Family.
My mother handed me control of her private arsenal, worth hundreds of millions.
Before I could even take inventory, the convent orphan my family had adopted quietly changed the codes, and handed the entire shipment to homeless men in slums controlled by our enemies.
Staring down my gun, she crossed herself, her face full of pity.
"God tells us to love the world, Alessia. Sitting on all those instruments of murder is a sin. I am only atoning for you."
I scoffed, but one second before I pulled the trigger, my childhood friend, the Family's top killer, shot the gun from my hand and denounced me as bloodthirsty, cruel, and incapable of empathy.
My older brother, the new Don, only sneered and stripped me of my inheritance on the spot.
He threw me into the lowest end of the red-light district to wash dishes until the violence had been ground out of me.
That same night, addicts from the rival gang cornered me at the end of an alley, stabbed me more than twenty times, then dumped me into the Thames.
I opened my eyes, and I was back on the day the orphan girl walked toward the arsenal with my key in her hand.