The Rest of My Life, Without You

Tony Gambino never forgave me. His childhood sweetheart died saving my life, and for seven years, his hatred was a constant, silent burn.

I fasted. I prayed. I begged for absolution.

He met my penance with a cold sneer. "I'll only forgive you when you're dead."

The words were a knife to the heart. So why, when we were both poisoned, did he shove the only antidote down my throat?

As the poison claimed him, blood trickling from his lips, he choked out his last words, "Scarlett... in our next life, let's never meet."

Later, I tried to visit his grave. His sworn brother and Consigliere, Richard Bruno, blocked my path. He pressed a gun to my forehead.

"I don't know how you have the nerve to show your face here, Scarlett. He'd be alive if he hadn't saved you.

"I should never have let him give up Elma for you. You're a curse. Everyone who gets close to you gets destroyed."

Their eyes were unanimous in their blame. And they were right.

So I watched his gravesite from a distance, my own guilt a heavier stone than any marker.

Not long after, I was killed in a gang crossfire.

When I opened my eyes, I was seven years in the past. This time, I made a different choice: I let Tony go—so that everyone might live.

A familiar voice drifted into my consciousness as my eyes fluttered open.

"Scarlett, once you're elected Capo, I will honor my family's promise and marry you."

My vision cleared. Tony Gambino stood before me, dressed in a white shirt with the top buttons carelessly undone, exuding a casual sensuality. His gaze wasn't cold this time—just faintly mocking.

The sight of him made my breath catch, a familiar ache burning behind my eyes.

I had been reborn. Not to the beginning, but to this pivotal moment: the day I became a candidate for Capo.

In my past life, Tony's parents decreed that whichever of us—Elma Russo or I—became a capo first would became Tony's wife.

I won. I married the man I loved. And we spent a lifetime tearing each other apart. Because the woman he truly loved had always been Elma—his childhood sweetheart, not me.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and lifted my head, my voice quiet but steady.

"Tony... the woman you actually want to marry is Elma, isn't it?"

He went still. His eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing. "How did you know that?"

He recovered quickly, a mask of cool indifference falling back into place. "It doesn't matter. With your skills, you'll win the election. You'll be Capo."

I held his gaze. "There has to be another way."

He let out a short, derisive laugh. "What's this, a new tactic to get my attention? Save it. Just focus on planning the wedding you've always wanted."

As he turned, his back straight and unyielding, a wave of bitterness washed over me.

This was the man I had loved with my