Reborn To Reign: Choosing The Monster Over The Prince

The cold silence that bloomed in my chest ended my life as the perfect mafia princess.

My fiancé, Connor Walls, watched me fade on the cold tile floor while he calmly cleaned his gun.

Standing beside him was my cousin Jana, the girl I trusted with my life, looking at him with adoration as I took my last breath.

I died realizing that the "Golden Prince" of the Chicago Outfit was actually a monster who had chipped away at my soul behind closed doors for years.

And the man I had been terrified of-his brother Brannon, the "Butcher"-was the only one who had ever truly protected me.

I died full of regret, hatred, and the bitter taste of betrayal.

But then, I gasped, my body jolting upright on a blue gym mat.

My skin was smooth. My heart was beating.

Connor stood above me, young and arrogant, offering me a hand.

I was twenty-one again.

The years of quiet suffering, the betrayal, the final moments-none of it had happened yet.

Connor smiled, thinking I was still the naive girl he planned to control and discard.

He thought I would walk into the Rite of Choice tonight and obediently accept his claim over my future.

He was wrong.

That night, under the crystal chandeliers, the Don asked me to pledge myself to the heir.

The entire room held its breath, waiting for the rehearsed "I do."

I looked at Connor, then turned my gaze to the terrifying shadow in the corner.

"The debt requires a union with the Walls bloodline," I said, my voice steel. "It does not specify the heir."

I pointed at the monster everyone feared.

"I choose Brannon Walls."

Chapter 1

Abby Talley POV

The memory of a final, sharp silence five minutes ago was supposed to be the end, but the acrid tang of exertion and ozone that filled my lungs told me I had just begun.

I gasped, my body jolting upright on a hard, blue gym mat. My hand flew to my sternum, fingers clawing at the silk of my blouse, expecting to find torn flesh and the warmth of my own life spilling out.

There was nothing.

My skin was smooth. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird, but it was beating. It was loud. It was alive.

"Easy, princess. You look like you saw a ghost."

The voice was smooth, arrogant, and terrifyingly familiar. It was the voice of the man who had watched me fade on a cold tile floor while he cleaned his gun.

I looked up.

Connor Walls stood above me, offering a hand. He wasn't the older, hardened Capo who had ordered my end. He looked younger. His face was unlined, his smile practiced and perfect-the golden boy of the Chicago Outfit.

He was twenty-five again. Untarnished. Which meant I was twenty-one.

I ignored his hand.

The memories crashed into me with the force of a freight train. The marriage. The quiet agony hidden behind closed doors. The betrayal by my cousin, Jana. And finally, the night I found the ledger proving he was stealing from the Don-the night he decided I was a liability.

I scrambled backward, pushing myself off the mat.

We were in the Family's tactical training center. The air smelled of rubber and ozone.

"What's wrong, Abby?" Connor laughed, a sound that used to make me blush but now made my stomach turn. "Did the recoil scare you? This kind of training isn't for someone so delicate."

He turned his back to me, sauntering toward the shooting range counter where his Beretta lay. He picked it up, ejected the mag, and let it drop to the floor with a metallic clatter.

"Pick that up for me," he said.

He didn't look at me. He didn't have to. In his mind, in this time, he believed I was already under his complete control. The daughter of a dead Soldato, indebted to the Don, desperate for the protection of a Capo.

The girl I used to be would have scrambled to obey. She would have apologized for being clumsy. She would have picked up the magazine and handed it to him with a shy smile, grateful for his attention.

I stared at the black metal on the floor.

"Abby," he said, his tone sharpening. "I said, pick it up."

The soldiers training nearby stopped. The rhythmic pop-pop-pop of gunfire ceased. Silence stretched across the gym, heavy and suffocating. They were watching the Prince deal with his future bride's hesitation.

I stood up, smoothing the wrinkles from my skirt. My legs felt shaky, but my spine was steel.

"No," I said.

Connor froze. He turned slowly, his blue eyes narrowing. The mask of the charming prince slipped, just for a second, revealing the predator underneath.

"Excuse me?"

"You have hands, Connor," I said, my voice steady, though my palms were sweating. "Pick it up yourself."

Jana stepped out from the shadows near the equipment lockers. My cousin. The rat. She looked young, innocent, her eyes wide with feigned concern.

"Abby," she whispered, rushing to Connor's side. "Don't be rude. He's just trying to help you."

She looked at him with adoration, the same look she wore when she told him where I hid the evidence in my past life.

Connor stepped into my personal space. He smelled of expensive cologne and gun oil. His presence was a physical weight, an unspoken challenge. "You're stressed," he said, his voice low, a threat wrapped in velvet. "The Rite of Choice is tonight. You're forgetting your place, Abby. You're forgetting who keeps you safe."

He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from my cheek. I flinched.

"Don Barrett is coming to inspect the facility in ten minutes," I said.

Connor's hand stopped.

"I suggest you have your weapon cleaned and holstered before the Don sees his Capo bullying a woman instead of leading his men," I continued. "Unless you want him to rethink who deserves that button on your collar."

Connor's jaw tightened. A vein pulsed in his temple. He hadn't expected me to know the Don's schedule. He hadn't expected me to use the Boss's name as a shield.

He stared at me, searching for the naive girl he planned to break. He didn't find her.

"Pick up the mag, Jana," Connor snapped, not breaking eye contact with me.

Jana scrambled to the floor, eager to please, eager to be useful.

Connor leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. "You look different today, Abby. Dangerous."

He pulled back, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.

"I like it. It will make taming you so much more interesting."

Abby Talley POV

The chandeliers of the Grand Ballroom wept crystal, casting a splintered light over the monsters in tuxedos.

I stood near the entrance, clad in a dress the color of defiance. It was backless, spun from silk, and its bold cut was a statement in itself.

In my past life, Connor had chosen a modest, pale pink gown for me-something that made me look like a virgin sacrifice.

Tonight, I dressed for war.

The Rite of Choice was an archaic tradition, a gala where the daughters of the Outfit were formally pledged to high-ranking men. For me, it was supposed to be a formality. Everyone knew the arrangement. The Don owed my father a debt, and that debt was paid by marrying me to the Family's rising star, Connor Walls.

A hush fell over the room.

Connor had arrived.

He didn't walk in alone. He walked in with Jana clinging to his arm.

It was a calculated insult. A public dismissal before the ring was even on my finger. Jana wore a dress that was too tight, too short, and entirely inappropriate for a formal Family gathering.

But it was her neck that drew every eye.

Unseemly marks bloomed against her pale skin, telling a story of reckless possession.

Connor paraded her through the crowd, greeting Made Men, laughing, acting as if bringing his companion to his engagement ceremony was a power move.

And it was. He was showing everyone that I was nothing more than a business acquisition.

Then, he spotted me.

He handed Jana a glass of champagne and left her by the bar, cutting a path straight toward me. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. He was handsome, lethal, and rich. He was everything a mafia princess was supposed to want.

"Red," he said, stopping inches from me. His eyes raked over my body, possessing me without touching me. "A bold choice. I didn't approve this."

"I didn't ask for your approval," I said, taking a cool sip of my water.

He stepped closer, eliminating the space between us. His hand shot out, gripping my upper arm. His fingers tightened, a painful pressure that promised a bruise.

"You're making a scene, Abby," he hissed, his smile still plastered on his face for the onlookers. "First the gym, now this dress. You think playing hard to get makes you valuable? It just makes you annoying."

"And you think parading your companion around makes you look powerful?" I asked, looking pointedly at Jana, who was laughing loudly with a group of soldiers. "It makes you look like you have no discipline."

Connor's grip tightened. A sharp ache radiated down my arm.

"Watch your mouth," he whispered. "You'd do well to remember your position. The Don signed the papers this morning. Tonight is just a show. After this, I'll make sure you understand the rules."

I tried to pull my arm away. He held fast.

"Let go," I said.

"Or what?" he challenged. "You'll run to my brother? The Butcher?"

He laughed, a cruel, sharp sound.

"Brannon is a monster, Abby. He scares grown men. He lives in the shadows, dealing with the family's filth. Do you think he cares about a little bird like you?"

I looked past Connor's shoulder.

In the darkest corner of the room, leaning against a marble pillar, stood a man who looked like he was carved from granite. He wore a black suit that strained against his shoulders. He held no drink. He spoke to no one.

Brannon Walls.

In my last life, I was terrified of him. I believed the rumors. I believed he was a mindless beast who tortured people for the Family. I avoided him until the day I died.

But I knew the truth now.

I knew who had secretly paid for my father's funeral when Connor refused. I knew who had killed the men who tried to kidnap me three years ago. And I knew who had avenged my death in the timeline I left behind.

Connor followed my gaze and sneered.

"Don't look at him. He's an animal. I'm the Prince."

"Princes are just men with crowns," I said, dragging my gaze back to Connor. "And crowns can be knocked off."

Connor's eyes went flat. He squeezed my arm one last time, a warning pinch that sent a sharp spike of pain to my shoulder, then released me.

"Enjoy your freedom for the next hour, Abby," he said, smoothing his lapel. "Because after the ceremony, you're never leaving my sight again."

Abby Talley POV

The orchestra swelled, a crescendo that signaled the beginning of the Rite.

I moved toward the dais where the Don sat ensconced on a velvet throne, watching his kingdom with tired, heavy eyes.

But Jana intercepted me.

She held a glass of red wine, her knuckles tight around the stem. Her eyes were bright with malice. She timed it perfectly.

Just as I passed a group of Capos and their wives, Jana lunged forward, feigning a stumble on her high heels.

The wine splashed across the front of my red dress, leaving a dark, startling stain on the silk.

"Oh my god!" Jana shrieked, dropping the glass.

It shattered on the marble floor with a violent crash. "Abby! Why did you push me?"

The room went deathly silent.

Jana fell to her knees, sobbing dramatically. As she fell, her hand brushed against the broken glass, and she cried out in pain. "I was just trying to congratulate you! Why are you so jealous?"

It was a performance worthy of the stage. In my past life, I would have stammered, apologized, and scrambled to help her up.

Instead, I stood still, looking down at her.

"Get up, Jana," I said, my voice devoid of warmth. "You're embarrassing yourself."

Connor appeared instantly. He didn't look at the spilled wine. He didn't ask what happened.

He saw an audience, and he saw an opportunity to assert his dominance.

"What is wrong with you?" Connor shouted, his voice booming across the silent ballroom.

He grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face him.

"She's your cousin! She has nothing, and you treat her like trash because you're insecure?"

"She threw the wine, Connor," I said calmly. "Ask the Capo behind me. He saw it."

But Connor didn't care about the truth. He cared about the narrative. He cared about breaking me down publicly so that no one would question it when I disappeared into his penthouse later.

"Don't lie to me!"

His hand moved faster than I could react.

A sharp sting bloomed across my cheek, and the world went silent. The impact was less a sound and more a sudden, deafening pressure that stole the air from the room.

My head snapped to the side. A dull, throbbing ache began to spread from my jaw.

The gasp from the room sucked the air out of the space.

In our world, striking a Made Man was a grave offense. Striking a woman under the Don's protection, at a formal ceremony, was... complicated.

But Connor was the Golden Boy. He was the heir. He banked on his privilege protecting him.

Slowly, deliberately, I turned my head back to face him. My cheek throbbed, but I didn't touch it. I didn't cry.

Connor looked momentarily stunned by his own violence, or perhaps by the fact that I hadn't crumbled. Then, his arrogance returned.

"You needed to be calmed down," he announced, loud enough for the Don to hear. "She's hysterical. Look at her."

I wasn't hysterical. I was ice.

"Is that how you treat what you claim to value, Connor?" I asked, my voice clear.

"Do you damage it before the ink is even dry?"

"You think you can escape my influence?" he sneered, leaning in close. "I can take everything from you. I can throw you on the street. You are nothing without me."

I looked past him.

The shadows in the far corner of the room seemed to detach themselves from the wall. A figure was moving. Not walking-stalking.

The crowd parted, not out of respect this time, but out of pure, primal fear.

Brannon Walls stepped into the light.

He was huge, broad-shouldered and towering, a monolith of a man. A scar ran through his left eyebrow, giving him a permanent scowl.

He didn't look at Connor. He didn't look at the Don.

His dark, empty eyes were locked with lethal focus on the red mark blooming on my cheek.