Framed as a Traitor, Reborn To Make Them All Regret
In my last life, my brother Leo—the heir to the Moretti crime family—stripped our estate bare of every last soldier, all for a Vegas jaunt.
All because his new flame, Scarlett, had a jones for the high-roller tables.
The Volkovs—our rivals, the very ones Leo had just pissed off—saw their opening and stormed our gates. My mother, Sofia, took a bullet meant for me. Died protecting me.
I blew up Leo’s phone, my pleas turning to screams. He didn't answer.
He waltzed back in after the shooting stopped, bringing our men home, but far too late for it to matter.
Then, the news from Vegas. Scarlett was gone.
A suicide note left behind. In it, she painted me as the monster.
The one who’d leaked our weaknesses to the Volkovs.
The one who'd orchestrated a fake kidnapping and torture plot, all to drive her to despair and lure Leo home. A perfect, tragic lie.
Leo read the letter calmly. Then he burned the letter and told me, "Forget it. It's handled."
Father tore into Leo for abandoning his post, for leaving his family to die. And me? I was named the new Consigliere.
But after the celebration, Leo cornered me in the wine cellar.
His face was a mask of cold fury as he pressed the barrel of his gun to my forehead.
"This is for family traitors," he hissed, his voice pure venom.
"The throne is my birthright, not some backstabbing bitch's prize!"
When I opened my eyes again, I was back.
Right in the middle of the fire and the blood.
This time, I shoved my mother behind me, dragging her toward the panic room.
And the bastards who were too blind to believe me? They’ll regret it.