Reborn into His Arms
1.5k Views · Ongoing · Agatha Christie
Born into the most powerful mafia family in the city, I've had seven bodyguards since I was ten years old.
Seven heirs from allied families. Seven men trained to protect me. Seven potential husbands.
On my eighteenth birthday, I had to pick one and marry him.
Everyone knew I'd choose Dante Lucchese. How could I not? I'd been stupidly in love with that arrogant bastard since I was seven.
But I'll never choose him again.
Because I've already lived through what happens when I do.
The wedding. The explosion. Flames devouring my dress as I clawed at Dante's sleeve, begging him to help me.
He ripped his arm away.
And ran straight to Isabella—the pathetic little charity case my family took in, who always played the victim so perfectly.
"Serena, stop being selfish!" he shouted over the roar of the fire. "Isabella's hurt worse than you! I have to save her first!"
I screamed his name as he disappeared into the smoke with her in his arms.
The last thing I heard was Isabella crying. The last thing I felt was my skin burning.
Then—nothing.
Until I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the calendar on my bedroom wall.
Six months before the wedding.
The morning my father called me into his study to tell me it was time to choose.
This time, I crossed Dante's name off the list first.
This time, I chose Enzo Corleone—the quiet one who never said much, who everyone underestimated.
The one who died trying to pull me out of that fire.
So why the hell is Dante on his knees at my wedding to Enzo, tears streaming down his face, begging me to marry him instead?
Seven heirs from allied families. Seven men trained to protect me. Seven potential husbands.
On my eighteenth birthday, I had to pick one and marry him.
Everyone knew I'd choose Dante Lucchese. How could I not? I'd been stupidly in love with that arrogant bastard since I was seven.
But I'll never choose him again.
Because I've already lived through what happens when I do.
The wedding. The explosion. Flames devouring my dress as I clawed at Dante's sleeve, begging him to help me.
He ripped his arm away.
And ran straight to Isabella—the pathetic little charity case my family took in, who always played the victim so perfectly.
"Serena, stop being selfish!" he shouted over the roar of the fire. "Isabella's hurt worse than you! I have to save her first!"
I screamed his name as he disappeared into the smoke with her in his arms.
The last thing I heard was Isabella crying. The last thing I felt was my skin burning.
Then—nothing.
Until I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the calendar on my bedroom wall.
Six months before the wedding.
The morning my father called me into his study to tell me it was time to choose.
This time, I crossed Dante's name off the list first.
This time, I chose Enzo Corleone—the quiet one who never said much, who everyone underestimated.
The one who died trying to pull me out of that fire.
So why the hell is Dante on his knees at my wedding to Enzo, tears streaming down his face, begging me to marry him instead?

















































