No More Postcards From Chicago
The Don was going to lose his wife forever.
After my rebirth, I stopped trying to prevent my husband, Don Alistair Valachi, from lavishing his affection on his late brother's widow, Isabella Genovese, and that spoiled niece of hers, Arabella.
After all, in my previous life, I had burned my life to the ground for a single glance from him. It wasn't until I lay on a cold hospital bed, the memory of my son Julian's body growing cold in my arms, that I finally understood. In the moment before a broken heart led me to take my own life, I saw just how absurdly wrong I had been.
Reborn, the first thing I did was not beg for his love. It was to stride into downtown's most discreet law firm and activate the emergency protocol my father had left for me.
"I request to activate the protective clause and draft a divorce agreement with Alistair Valachi. I need new identities for myself and Julian Valachi, ones that cannot be traced by the Chicago Outfit."
In a few days, Julian and I would vanish from Alistair's life. Since he was so insistent on creating his new "family" with Isabella and Arabella, I decided to let him have it.