Reborn to Marry the Rival Mafia Boss

Chapter Three

I enlarged the signature until the ink broke into pixels. Whoever had put it there knew the way I crossed the f in Sofia and let the last letter of Bellandi run below the line. My father kept signed forms from me in every office he used. It would not have been difficult to find one.

The document was dated that morning. At the top, a status bar read Pending verification, though the first paragraph said the authorization took effect immediately. I sat in the car with the engine off and read the rest before touching anything else.

It covered votes on the port expansion, related financing, and changes to the holding company’s operating agreement. It did not say anything about the shipments or the missing money I had found before my death. It did not need to. With my vote, my father could approve terms Granddad had refused, then claim the family had agreed.

I used my phone to download the PDF. The portal offered a version history, so I captured that too: the upload time, the account that submitted it, and the notice saying it had been shared with me. The submitting account belonged to my father’s executive assistant. That told me whose login had been used. It did not tell me who had made the signature.

My screen went dark as a call came in from Marco. Through the windshield, I could see the front windows of the house and my mother’s silhouette crossing the sitting room. Marco had said he was coming after lunch. If I waited in the drive, I would have to explain why I was holding a copy of a form I had supposedly signed.

I let the call ring out, started the car, and drove through the gate. The guard lifted a hand as I passed. I kept both hands on the wheel until I reached the main road.

At a red light, I remembered the agreement my father had given me the first time. Marco had stood behind my chair while I signed and held the pages steady when I reached the last one. Later, I found out the page setting the duration of the voting proxy had been folded under the back cover. I’d read the signature page and trusted his explanation of the rest.

That would not happen tomorrow. The document on my phone was different, though. It was an internal authorization. The witnessed proxy my father wanted tomorrow was a separate document; I remembered signing both in my first life. I could challenge the page on my phone, but I needed someone independent to examine the full agreement. Before I did, I wanted a copy beyond the reach of anyone who controlled the Bellandi portal.

I pulled into a small shopping center and parked near the entrance to a pharmacy. The car was warm after sitting in the sun at the house. I opened my personal email account and sent the PDF, screenshots, and my grandfather’s photographed refusal to myself.

Then I wrote down the time of each download in the notes app, along with what I had seen on the portal. I did not add a guess about who had forged my name.

Marco called again. This time he left a message.

“Sofia, your mother said you left before I got there. Call me when you finish whatever couldn’t wait. Dad wants us together tomorrow.” Marco sounded amused on the recording, though a car door shut hard behind him before the message ended.

I saved the message. In my first life, I would have called back and apologized for leaving. My thumb rested over his name for a moment before I opened my contacts and found the number I actually needed.

Adriana Costa had represented a small carrier in a contract dispute with one of our suppliers the year before. I’d been the person sent to work out a schedule after the lawyers finished arguing. She had pushed back when our finance chief tried to make the carrier absorb a loss it hadn’t caused. I knew she had never represented the Bellandis or the Rinaldis.

Her receptionist answered. I gave my name and said I needed advice about my own shares in a private company, not a Bellandi business matter. I asked for a conflict check before I sent any document.

“Ms. Costa can speak with you at half past one. Please bring identification and the documents you own. We’ll confirm the conflict check first.” The receptionist gave me the office address and waited while I repeated it back.

“I’ll be there.” I looked at the time on the dashboard. I had forty minutes.

The office was above a row of shops two streets from the courthouse. I left my car in a public garage, took the envelope from my bag, and climbed a narrow staircase that smelled of fresh paint. At the reception desk, I gave my name and waited while the receptionist checked my identification. A printer ran in the room behind her. I watched each page come out, tempted to ask whether they could print my copy, but I had no reason to hand their staff my files before Adriana agreed to see me.

Adriana came out in a gray jacket with her sleeves pushed back. She recognized me at once.

“Sofia Bellandi. I wondered if you’d ever get tired of doing your finance chief’s work.” Adriana offered her hand, her mouth lifting at one corner.

“I’ve got my own problem today. Did the check come back?” I shook her hand, careful to keep my envelope under my other arm.

“Clear so far. My firm hasn’t advised your family or the Rinaldis. Come in and tell me what you need.” Adriana held the office door open and let me pass ahead of her.

Her desk had two neat stacks of files, a chipped blue mug, and a window looking onto the garage. I sat opposite her, set my grandfather’s certificate and trust copy on the desk, and told her about the internal authorization. I started with the document I could prove existed. I left out the other life entirely.

Adriana asked where I had obtained the papers, whether I had signed anything that morning, and who had access to samples of my signature. She listened without taking her eyes off the pages.

“Your grandfather’s interest is yours.” Adriana tapped the certificate once, then set it beside the trust copy. “I need the full operating agreement before I can tell you what this internal form does. It doesn’t appear to be the witnessed proxy your father wants tomorrow.” She looked up from the papers to make sure I understood the distinction.

“He says I have to come to his office at nine. Can they treat this as consent before then?” I turned my phone so Adriana could see the PDF and its pending status.

“They might try. I won’t promise what their records show until I’ve seen them. Keep the original file and its history. Don’t alter either.” Adriana turned her legal pad toward me. “Write down everyone who spoke to you about signing, and when. We can prepare an objection once I review the agreement.” She held out a pen.

The small, ordinary task gave me something to do with my hands. I wrote my father’s name, Marco’s, and the time Marco had called. Then I remembered my mother’s insistence that the estate papers were under control and added her name beneath theirs.

“Do you feel safe going home tonight?” Adriana asked as I put down the pen. She waited while I considered it.

The question made me look up. She did not know about Carlo or the service road. She had seen the forged page, my father’s demand for the certificate, and the wedding I was expected to go through. If I went back to the house, my family would know where to find me and every paper I carried.

“I have somewhere else I can stay. I need to collect a few things first.” I drew the envelope toward me. I had not decided where to go, but I could find a hotel.

“Tell me before you go to the nine o’clock meeting. I can attend as your counsel if you want me there. And don’t sign a page because they say the rest is routine.” Adriana slid the certificate and trust copy back across the desk, keeping her eyes on me until I nodded.

My phone lit up beside the envelope. A new portal notification had appeared while we spoke. I opened the version history again, expecting another share notice.

The status on the forged authorization had changed to Signature page rejected. Beneath it was a fresh entry made from the Rinaldi account.

Replacement signature page requested for tomorrow’s meeting.