A Thug’s Love Poem

After my rebirth, when Vince Costello's private assistant, Bella, took advantage of my sleep to loop a dog chain around my neck as a prank, I did not draw my Glock and aim it at her head like I did in my previous life.

I didn't lose my mind and smash half the crystal chandeliers in the Westchester estate when Vince stepped in to protect her, nor did I scream for a divorce.

I simply sat up, unfastened the damned chain from my neck, and tossed it onto the floor.

"She certainly has nerve," I said, looking at Vince.

My voice was terrifyingly flat. "I hope you two have fun."

I snatched my trench coat from the nightstand. "I'm done. Happy anniversary."

Then, I walked out of the bedroom without looking back.

I had no other choice. After I broke things off with Vince in my last life, the outcome was nothing short of a nightmare.

He treated me like a traitor to the family. All my bank accounts were frozen overnight, and every credit card was voided. I searched all over Manhattan for a divorce lawyer willing to take on a "gray-market" case, but I walked away with nothing but a check for forty-eight dollars. The moment those lawyers saw the name Costello, they wouldn't even let me through their office doors.

Worse yet, just after I fled New York, I was diagnosed with terminal adenocarcinoma at a free clinic in New Jersey.

The doctor told me I had six months at most.

With no insurance and no money, the cost of treating late-stage cancer was an astronomical figure. I tried applying for Medicaid, but the process was too slow. I contacted several charitable medical organizations, only to be rejected; they told me my case did not meet the "priority criteria for assistance."

The pain devoured me like a wild beast. Every day, I survived on Ibuprofen bought from CVS, until eventually, I couldn't even afford that.

At my lowest point, I discarded every ounce of pride and crawled back to Vince's estate on Long Island.

It was late in a December night, just after a blizzard had stopped. I knelt in the snow outside the iron gates, begging the guards through the intercom to announce my arrival. Vince's voice came through the speaker, cold as ice.

"You chose to leave, Ava. When you walked out that door, it was over. Don't come crawling back to me."

Then, he hung up.

I collapsed into the snow. My body heat ebbed away, and my consciousness began to blur.

In my final moments, I looked through the iron bars and saw him standing in the rose garden I had once meticulously tended. He was holding Bella, drinking champagne from the Waterford crystal flutes I had picked out, and then they kissed.

I died right there, outside the gates of my own home.

So, in this life, pride means nothing. Staying alive is the only thing that matters.

......

I didn't expect Vince to chase after me.

He intercepted me at the end of the hallway, still wearing his robe.

"Ava, wait," he said.

There was a rare urgency in his voice. "Just... listen to me."

He paused, seemingly searching for the right words.

"Bella is young. She behaves without thinking. The dog chain thing—I know it was over the line, but it was just a stupid joke."

"Her father worked for mine. She's looked at me like family since she was a child. She doesn't understand boundaries," he said, rubbing his brow. "You are my wife. Don't let her get to you."

He had said these exact words in my previous life. Word for word.

Back then, Bella had just burned the back of my hand with a Costello family Zippo—a lighter engraved with their family crest. I was shaking with pain, and hearing Vince's dismissive defense of her made me snap on the spot.

I had pulled the Glock 19 he gave me from my waistband and fired three consecutive shots into the marble floor at his feet. The bullet holes exploded, sending shards flying everywhere. All the core family members were present, including his father.

"We are done!" I had shrieked, and then I charged out of the estate.