

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.

As the plane was going down, we discovered one of the parachutes was defective. In that life-or-death moment, Eugene Shaw handed me the last working parachute. I made it to the ground, but my illegitimate sister, Sharon Cook, was lost in the crash, her remains never recovered. After our rescue, Eugene kept his word and married me, fulfilling our engagement. The wedding was extravagant, but our marriage was a complete disaster. For six years, he lived with a searing hatred, convinced I was responsible for Sharon’s death. To him, I was a villain, and my life became a living hell. When we finally reached the end of our toxic marriage, Eugene dragged me back to the site of the crash, choosing to end both our lives in a twisted act of vengeance. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that fateful day, just before the crash. This time, I decided to give the chance of survival to the person he loved most.

"In my previous life, I gave everything I had to marry him, only to receive fifty years of cold indifference, betrayal, and my son kneeling by my bedside on my deathbed, begging me to ""let Father go."" Reborn on the very day we were to register our marriage, Sebastian was still the same impatient man, tapping his fingers on the table. This time, I picked up the pen and slowly wrote my sister’s name in the applicant column. Since she was the one you’ve always longed for, I’ll grant your wish. I personally helped her try on wedding dresses, slipped the ring onto her finger, and watched him take her away to the capital. Then I turned around and left for the prestigious finishing school for ladies in Southport, starting from zero, determined to live for myself. I thought the story would end there. But when he discovered that the name on the marriage certificate wasn’t mine, he went mad and came chasing after me."

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

Five years ago, Zoey Campbell, the medical talent, was set up with her babies carved out of her belly. The mastermind behind the scene seized the baby boy and drove a wedge between Zoey and her husband, Ian Fleming. Five years later, Zoey came back with her daughter Anna, a talented hacker, seeking vengeance! After a series of twisted plots, Zoey realized she had taken the wrong boy as her son. The boy's real mother was the same one who arranged the brutal operation five years ago. Zoey's real son had been kept this vicious schemer as her punching bag! And the one who planned everything was actually Ian's evil twin brother...
![[ENG DUB] Revenge Carved in a Second Life](https://acfs3.goodshort.com/dist/src/assets/images/pc/common/f901131c-default-book-cover.png)
In her past life, Cindy Quinn sacrificed everything for her father and three brothers, only to be cast aside when her long-lost sister returned and stole all their affection. This time, she wakes up at the moment of her parents' divorce—and makes a different choice. Instead of staying with the ungrateful Quinn family, she follows her mother into the powerful Shane family, where a brand-new life awaits…

Abandoned and hunted by her own pack under the order of her cruel mate, Victor, the Omega Fina makes a desperate leap from a cliff. She's miraculously saved by Roric, a mysterious biker who is far more than he seems. At a sacred hot spring, a fated bond marks them as destined mates, revealing Roric's true identity: the Alpha King. When a regretful Victor recaptures Fina, intending to brand her a slave, Roric descends with kingly fury. He declares her his Luna, sparking a war between the Alpha who rejected her and the King who would burn the world for her.

My father was one of the first dons to rise out of the Naples mob. My mother was an iron-fisted businesswoman with a reputation that made grown men flinch. When I was ten, somebody had the nerve to hijack one of my father's freight ships. He had the man's arms and legs broken with a crowbar, then stuffed a handful of gold rings down his throat — told him to count his money while he crawled. When I was fifteen, some scheming woman tried to get her claws into my father. My mother hired the filthiest pimps off the docks, shipped her down to a back-alley bar in Marseille, and told her to make her own way. And me — I grew up running the streets of Naples like I owned them. The sons of every other family knew to call me Miss Ferrante and keep their hands to themselves. Then I met him. A rough, quiet man fresh out of the army. For him I put down the knives, traded the silk for plain cotton, and followed him back to that little nothing of a coastal town, Porto Scuro. Today my mother-in-law and my husband went down to the dock warehouses to settle a dispute. They held her face down in a barrel of rotting fish guts. They kicked in three of his ribs. I stared at the salt fish I'd been slicing on the kitchen board, let out a cold laugh, and brought the knife down so hard the oak split in half. Then I dialed my father's private line.