On the eve of our wedding, my fiancé, Cillian Donnelly—heir to a Boston Irish mob family—demanded that his mistress, Trinity Bryant, serve as my bridesmaid in a wedding dress identical to mine.
Contrary to everyone's expectations, I didn't fly into a rage. Instead, I personally arranged Trinity's fitting.
I agreed because I remembered my past life. In that life, my vehement opposition had led Cillian to discard Trinity, who then met her end in an “accidental” drowning in the Charles River.
Cillian’s resentment festered. After leveraging my father’s control over the port to seize power as Boston’s new kingpin, he had my family home burned to the ground.
I died in the inferno, in the throes of childbirth, while he declared it was revenge for his lost “true love.”
I opened my eyes to find myself reborn, just as Cillian knelt before my father to make that same ridiculous request.
This time, I was determined to watch the Donnelly empire crumble without lifting a finger to help.
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1
"Papa, I agree to his terms."
The moment the words left my mouth, Papa’s face darkened.
As the Principessa of the Carvallo family, one of Boston's Five Families, I was an art restorer with a degree from Yale.
Boston's high society would be in attendance; even Don Rinaldi from New York was sending a representative with a gift.
This wasn't just a slap in my face; it was a humiliation for the entire Carvallo family.
Cillian Donnelly, however, was ecstatic.
"Avelina, I knew you'd agree. We grew up together, and you're the kindest person I know. I knew you'd understand Trinity's situation."
"Don't worry, you'll always be the one I love most. When Trinity's child is born, he'll be taught to call you Mamma and respect you as the lady of this house."
I lowered my eyes, concealing the inferno of hatred raging within me.
The searing pain of being burned alive, my father's ashes scattered into the sea—the scenes flashed through my mind.
I stared at Cillian's hypocritical face, fighting the urge to tear his throat out with my bare hands.
I smothered my murderous rage and smiled as I helped him to his feet.
"It's just a ceremony. As long as you're happy, I don't mind."
Cillian froze, his eyes studying me with suspicion. "Avelina, you're not just saying that to make a point, are you? If you're truly unhappy... I'll tell Trinity she can't come. It will just be us."
He watched me, testing my reaction, but I caught the viper’s glint deep in his eyes.
He knew exactly how important this marriage alliance was to him.
The Irish mob's port business was failing, their finances on the verge of collapse. One wrong move and the entire Donnelly family would be torn to shreds by creditors and rivals.
To escape his financial predicament and take over the entire port business, he had to rely on my family, the Carvallos.
In this life and the last, he was always captivated by Trinity's fragile, damsel-in-distress act, completely blind to his own dire situation.
"Cillian, we've known each other for so many years. Do I look like I'm angry?"
"You know I've loved you since we were children. Marrying you is my greatest happiness. Besides, you're only doing this out of sympathy, to protect Trinity. You're so kind, and I'm proud of you."
A smile instantly bloomed on Cillian's face, and he grasped my hand.
"Avelina, I'm so happy you think so! I'm honored to be marrying such a generous, understanding woman."
"It's just..." Cillian paused.
"The wedding is tomorrow, and Trinity has nothing. Why don't you give her that 1962 Ferrari 250 GTO your grandfather left you, as compensation?"
"Trinity doesn't come from money. If the compensation is too meager, she'll be humiliated standing next to you."
Papa's eyes turned icy, his hand instinctively moving toward the gun tucked into his waistband under his suit jacket.
But I just smiled and said:
"Giving it to her directly, wouldn't that just embarrass Miss Trinity even more? I'll have my designer prepare the finest gown for her. I promise she'll be the most dazzling bridesmaid tomorrow."
"As for the car, why don't you sign a formal sales contract? Frame it as you buying it from me as a wedding gift for your 'special friend.' It's a much classier move and upholds your generous reputation."
Cillian hesitated. After all, that vintage sports car was worth fifty million dollars, a one-of-a-kind treasure.
Seeing his hesitation, I quickly added:
"Cillian, this is just a formality. We'll be husband and wife; what's mine is yours, isn't it? The contract will end up in your hands anyway. I'm just thinking of you. A man giving his wife's family heirloom to his mistress... that wouldn't sound good if word got out."
"You're right, Avelina. You're always so thoughtful."
Cillian quickly signed the contract, excitedly snatched the car keys, and rushed out.
I turned to my father.
"Papa, what do you think about our family forming an alliance with the Rinaldi family from New York?"
