Chapter 4:A New Beginning
1007 Words
Francesca stared blankly at the envelope in her trembling hands.
Her paycheck.
The same white envelope she had received just before everything in her life had fallen apart.
"No..."
She looked up at the worried woman standing before her.
Mrs. Morgana smiled kindly. "You look exhausted, dear. You've been working yourself too hard lately. Go home and get some rest."
Francesca's lips parted, but no words came out.
She had seen this scene before.
Every detail.
The smell of freshly baked bread drifting from the kitchen.
The soft music playing through the restaurant speakers.
Even the stain on Mrs. Morgana's apron.
It was all exactly the same.
Her heart pounded violently against her chest.
"W-What time is it?" she asked again her breath shaking.
Mrs. Morgana frowned. "Six o'clock."
"And... today's date?"
"January twenty-fourth."
Francesca's knees almost gave out beneath her.
January twenty-fourth...
Ten hours before her death.
Her breathing became uneven.
"I'm alive..."
She whispered the words to herself as tears welled in her eyes.
"I'm really alive."
Mrs. Morgana reached out worriedly.
"Francesca?"
Without warning, Francesca threw her arms around the older woman.
"Thank you..." she sobbed.
Mrs. Morgana stiffened in surprise before gently patting her back.
"Oh, sweetheart... whatever happened, it'll be alright."
Francesca closed her eyes.
No.
Nothing was alright.
Not yet.
But this time...
She could change everything.
The cold evening air hit her face as she stepped outside.
Instead of cycling home, she stood silently on the sidewalk.
Her mind replayed the final moments of her previous life.
Carlos' smile.
The suitcase full of money.
The warehouse.
The pain.
The humiliation.
The promise she had made before dying.
"If I get another chance..."
Her hands slowly clenched into fists.
"I'll never live for someone else again."
She took a deep breath.
First...
Mom.
The hospital corridors were just as she remembered.
Sterile.
Cold.
Silent.
Francesca hurried toward Room 317.
Her footsteps echoed through the hallway as fear tightened around her heart.
Please...
Please let me be in time.
She pushed the door open.
Her mother lay peacefully on the hospital bed, surrounded by machines that hummed steadily.
The gentle rise and fall of her chest nearly brought Francesca to her knees.
She was alive.
Francesca rushed forward and grasped her mother's hand.
Warm.
Still warm.
Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
She rested her forehead against the blanket.
"I was so blind."
"I chose someone who never loved me..."
"...while forgetting the only person who has always been waiting for me."
She squeezed her mother's hand tightly.
"I won't make that mistake again."
"I promise."
She wiped away her tears before walking to the billing office.
Using nearly all the money from her paycheck, she paid the overdue hospital fees.
The receptionist looked up in surprise.
"Would you like to renew her treatment plan as well?"
Francesca didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
She didn't care if she had nothing left.
As long as her mother lived.
Leaving the hospital, Francesca's expression hardened.
One crisis had been avoided.
Now it was time to stop the next one.
She headed straight for the nearest police station.
As she reached the front desk, a middle-aged officer barely glanced up.
"What is it?"
"I want to report a kidnapping."
The officer sighed.
"Whose?"
"Mine."
He finally looked at her.
"You look perfectly fine."
"It hasn't happened yet."
Silence.
The officer blinked.
"...Excuse me?"
Francesca froze.
Of course.
How was she supposed to explain that she had already died once?
"I..."
She searched desperately for the right words.
Before she could answer, raised voices echoed from another office.
"It's hopeless!"
"They arrested him anyway!"
"What else could they do? The man he accused owns half the city."
"So the innocent one goes to prison while the rich man walks free."
The officers laughed bitterly.
Francesca's heart sank.
Power.
That was the real law.
Without evidence...
Without influence...
No one would believe her.
Even if they did...
Could they really touch the people behind her death?
She slowly stepped away from the counter.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
"I made a mistake."
The officer rolled his eyes.
"Then stop wasting my time."
Francesca walked out of the station.
Not angry.
Just... disappointed.
"I almost did it again."
She leaned against a nearby wall.
"I almost believed justice would save me."
No.
If she wanted revenge...
She would have to take it herself.
She rented a computer at a small cyber café.
The old keyboard clicked beneath her fingers as she typed.
Snake... knife... tattoo... criminal organization...
Hundreds of results appeared.
Most were useless.
She kept searching.
Hours passed.
Then...
An image caught her attention.
Her entire body froze.
A silver snake wrapped around a black dagger.
The exact tattoo.
Her fingers trembled as she clicked the article.
Romano Group.
Italy's largest luxury hotel chain.
International investors.
Political connections.
Billions in assets.
Nothing.
Nothing about trafficking.
Nothing about murder.
Nothing about the underground empire she had seen with her own eyes.
"They erased everything..."
She whispered.
Just then...
A memory surfaced.
The luxury car.
The warning.
Those cold brown eyes.
The strange license plate.
"D'Amico..."
She immediately searched the name.
Within seconds, dozens of articles appeared.
The D'Amico family.
The wealthiest business dynasty in Italy.
Owners of banks, shipping companies, hospitals, hotels...
And...
Long-time rivals of the Romano family.
Hope flickered inside her.
"If anyone can stand against the Romanos..."
"...it's them."
She quickly searched for contact information.
Nothing.
No public phone number.
No email.
No office visitors.
Only one name appeared over and over again.
Antonio D'Amico.
Twenty-seven years old.
Chairman of the D'Amico Group.
Heir to one of Italy's most powerful families.
Feared.
Untouchable.
Francesca let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair.
"So..."
A small smile appeared on her face.
"I know who can save me."
Her smile disappeared almost immediately.
"But..."
"How on earth am I supposed to meet Antonio D'Amico?"
Just then...
A loud scream echoed from outside the café.
Francesca looked toward the window.
Someone was crying for help.
- Writer
