After I Died, the Don Went Mad With Regret

Ten years ago, I died in a shootout. My men recovered my body. I left behind only one daughter.

My husband, Colton Rinaldi, found our daughter selling cigars at the docks.

Under the blazing sun, she was drenched in sweat. The wooden crates had rubbed her shoulders raw and bloody.

Colton's face fell. He pulled her aside.

Then he demanded, beside himself with rage, "Why are you doing hard labor here? Where is your mother? How could she dump you in a place like this?

"She's so damn selfish!"

Mia Rinaldi had never seen him before. She stared at him, bewildered. "Who are you? Do you want a cigar? They're cheap."

Colton lifted the crate off her shoulders.

The veins on the backs of his hands bulged.

"Even if she's angry with me, she has no right to torment you like this. Come with me. As far as you're concerned, you don't have a mother anymore."

With that, he grabbed her hand and tried to lead her away.

Panicked, Mia bit his arm and glared up at him. "Don't talk about my mom like that! Who are you? Get away from me!

"Let go of me!"

Blood streamed down Colton's arm.

Colton went livid. "What has Monica Bellini been teaching you? She's angry with me, so she taught you to be this rude?

"I'm your father!"

My spirit hovered beside Mia. I tried to wipe away her frightened tears.

My hand passed straight through her.

A bitter smile tugged at my lips. How could Colton not know?

I wasn't sulking. I was dead.