The Secret Hidden in the Bride’s Tattoo
767 Views · Ongoing · Lily
Seamus O'Sullivan, Don of the Irish Mafia, forged a custom gold crest ring to find the woman he’d met at that ball.
He decreed that whoever could wear it would become his bride.
We had all died trying to claim it.
I had already watched my stepsister starve herself to the bone to wear it, only to take a bullet to the head on her wedding night.
I'd seen my stepmother hack off her own finger to force it on, earning herself cement shoes at the bottom of the Atlantic.
By my third life, they pushed me out, and I slipped the ring on easily. I really thought I was his bride. But on our wedding night, when the Don kissed my inner thigh, he snapped—and smothered me with a pillow.
He forced it over my face. I thrashed and clawed, but he pinned me down.
"Why isn't it her?!" he roared through the feathers. "Where is she?!"
Now, I was awake again. The fourth lifetime.
He decreed that whoever could wear it would become his bride.
We had all died trying to claim it.
I had already watched my stepsister starve herself to the bone to wear it, only to take a bullet to the head on her wedding night.
I'd seen my stepmother hack off her own finger to force it on, earning herself cement shoes at the bottom of the Atlantic.
By my third life, they pushed me out, and I slipped the ring on easily. I really thought I was his bride. But on our wedding night, when the Don kissed my inner thigh, he snapped—and smothered me with a pillow.
He forced it over my face. I thrashed and clawed, but he pinned me down.
"Why isn't it her?!" he roared through the feathers. "Where is she?!"
Now, I was awake again. The fourth lifetime.



















