A Stepping Stone's Ruthless Reign

The year I turned seventeen, I gave up everything for a street punk named Marco Gallo. I gave him my all—my body, my connections, my loyalty. I helped him climb from a nobody to a boss, building his territory brick by blood-soaked brick. For seven years, I stood by his side as his strategist, his woman, and his partner.

Then, for a younger dancer, he pushed me off a penthouse balcony.

I should have died. But instead, I woke up at seventeen again, back in the cheap motel where our "career" began. This time, I knew the truth: Marco didn't want a partner. He wanted a stepping stone.

So, I will give him exactly what he deserves—nothing.

This time, I will offer my loyalty and my intellect to a family that truly values them. And when Marco comes crawling back, begging for the woman he threw away, I'll show him: some betrayals don't get a second chance.

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1

At twenty-nine, the empire I had spent seven years building with Marco Gallo crumbled into a bitter joke.

We had fought our way from the bedroom to the penthouse balcony, ending in a standoff by the railing. Rage surged through me, a raw urge to tear the man in front of me to pieces.

"Marco!" I jabbed a finger into his chest. "Are you even fit to be a leader? I was with you when you were a street punk with nothing! I built this life with you, and now you’re chasing some dancer? Do your men even see me as the woman of this family anymore?"

A flicker of malice crossed his eyes. I knew that look—the raw violence he kept coiled inside was surfacing. I once loved those eyes when they shone just for me. Now, they were chips of ice.

"Alessia De Luca, cut the act." His voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble. "You were the one who wanted to escape your family's golden cage. You climbed into my bed at seventeen, begging me to take you away. Now you want to play the victim?"

His words landed like a knife in my chest.

"What did you just say?" My voice trembled, but not from fear. It was pure rage. "I begged you? Marco, you were the one who said we'd conquer this world together. You swore I was your only woman."

"That was before." He glanced away. "People change, Alessia. I'm somebody now. I have a whole crew to feed. I'm not that poor kid who had nothing but you anymore."

I laughed, a sound so bitter and broken that tears burned my eyes.

"So now that you've made it, you want to kick me to the curb? You want a prettier vase?"

"Yes." He turned back to me, his eyes cold. "I'm tired of you."

Utterly enraged, I lunged at him. We crashed together, tearing and clawing at each other. But the balcony floor was slick with spilled wine, and our feet slipped. He gave a sharp shove, and my whole body flipped over the edge.

An explosion of pain ripped through me. Then, nothingness.

When I woke up, the sour stench of cheap cigarettes and whiskey filled my nostrils, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

I opened my eyes to neon light flashing through a grimy window. I was in some rundown motel, with yellowed pornographic posters on the walls and empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor. The sheets on the narrow bed beneath me were covered in unidentifiable stains and riddled with cigarette burns.

I froze, lifting a hand to touch my face.

My skin was smooth and soft, carrying the faint, sweet scent of a young girl.

I was seventeen again, back to the day before I ran away from home.

Back then, I thought this place was paradise, the starting point of our dreams. It was where Marco and I would take on the world.

Now I saw it for what it truly was: a garbage dump that hid all sorts of filth.

I had no idea what possessed me back then to leave my family’s luxurious manor and run off with a street rat to a dump like this.

My family held a prominent position among the Five Families of New York. My father was the Underboss of the De Luca family, and he treated me like his Principessa. They had my entire life perfectly planned out for me: receive the best education, marry the heir of another powerful family, and become the matriarch to solidify the alliance.

Someone like me and a street punk like Marco should never have crossed paths.