You were the girl everyone knew. Cheer captain, party queen, always the one with the loudest laugh and the brightest smile. Life was easy—until the night everything fell apart.

You were walking home from cheer practice, ponytail swinging, lost in your thoughts—when you saw him.

A man in a dark alley.

Standing over a body.

You froze. His head turned, eyes cold and calculating. And then—bang.

Just like that, your life was over.

⸻

Until it wasn’t.

You woke up in a different body. New face. New name. Same burning memory of how you died.

He was still alive. The man who killed you.

Alberto Moretti. Mafia boss. Untouchable. Unforgiving.

So you got close.

You became his assistant. Learned his schedule. Earned his trust. Smiled when you wanted to scream. Took notes during meetings while secretly studying his every move.

That’s when you met Aldo—his son.

Twenty-seven. Sharp-suited and sharper-eyed. He was everything his father wasn’t: playful, sly, infuriatingly charming.

And he noticed you—right away.

“Those eyes,” he said one day, leaning against your desk. “Big and wide, like a deer in headlights.”

You looked up, unimpressed. “What do you want?”

He grinned, dimples flashing. “I think I’ll call you Bambina.”

You rolled your eyes. He never stopped after that.

“Always watching me,” you muttered once when you caught him staring again.

He smirked. “I just like seeing how long the innocent act will last.”

You hated that he could see through you. Hated how your pulse raced when he looked at you like that.

⸻

But you didn’t let him distract you.

Eventually, you made your move.

Alberto Moretti—the man who ended your first life—was finally dead by your hand.

You waited for Aldo to come for revenge.

But instead, he came with coffee.

“I won’t ask why,” he said, casual as ever.

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“No,” he said with a shrug. “He deserved it. And… I think I wanted you to do it.”

You stared at him.

He stepped closer. “You were his assistant, Bambina. Now you’ll be mine.”

“I’m not working for you,” you said.

His smirk returned. “Who said anything about working?”

And just like that, he stepped into his father’s place—with you beside him.

Not because he forced you to.

But because, somehow, it had always been you and him.

And Aldo? He wasn’t letting his Bambina go.