

On the night before the wedding, my fiancé suddenly asked me to give up the ceremony for his first love, Sofia. I turned it down cold in my former life, only to become the Chicago mob’s godmother at a lavish wedding. When Sofia heard the news, she was heartbroken and jumped into the sea to take her own life. Vincent blamed me for Sofia’s death. For the next thirty years, the words he said to me most often were: “Elena, if I had married Sofia that day, she wouldn't have died.” On his deathbed, he told our children: “Don’t bury me with Elena.” The year after he died, I fell gravely ill and passed away. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the night before the wedding. Over the phone, Vincent's voice came again: "Sofia needs this title more than you do. Everyone knows I love you, so they respect you—but Sofia's different. She's just a poor orphan girl..." Before he could finish, I calmly replied, “Fine, I agree.” I turned and signed the papers to cut ties with the family. I flew to Sicily, home to the Salk Institute that I had always looked up to. In this life, I refuse to be his appendage.

Three days before our wedding, my fiancé, Raphael Russo, was killed in a gang shootout. They didn't even find a body. As I was drowning in grief, comments suddenly flashed before my eyes: 【Wake up, girl! the coffin's empty! He faked his death! The scumbag ran off to be with that scheming bitch chloe, the one pretending to be sick!】 【While you're crying your eyes out at the funeral, Raphael is fucking Chloe’s brains out in a hotel bed.】 【When he comes back, he'll claim he has amnesia. You won't know a thing and you'll forgive him. You poor thing…】 A month later, news of my marriage to Mafia Don Marcello Falcone spread through New York. Raphael’s right-hand man cornered me, furious. “How could you betray the Boss?” I tightened my grip on Marcello’s arm and smiled. “A girl can’t mourn forever, can she? I’m sure Raphael, in spirit, would be happy for me.”

Three years ago, I drugged the mafia heir, Vincent. After that one wild night, he didn’t kill me. Instead, he fucked me until my legs went weak, gripping my waist and whispering the same word over and over: “Principessa.” Just as I was about to propose, his first love, Isabella, returned. To keep her happy, Vincent let a car hit me, had my mother’s heirlooms thrown to stray dogs, and sent me to prison… But when I was finally broken, flying to Boston to marry someone else, Vincent tore New York City apart to find me.