Giiuseppa Lo Vasto had walked the razor's edge all her life; her walk was as firm and elegant as a queen's, and it was no wonder. From a very young age, the weight of her father's legacy had rested on her shoulders. In 18th century Italy, plagued by ambitions and betrayals, she had been the only daughter, the sole heir to an empire that could not afford weakness. Her father, a man with a sharp mind, unique cunning, and strong hands, taught her to survive in a world where loyalty was bought with blood, where power was a currency whose value only the most ruthless understood, and where information was the deadliest weapon.

"If you don't have a man following you, you'll be food for the wolves, Giiuseppa. But don't get married, don't. Everyone will want you, not for yourself, but for what you represent. "Use men, but never let them use you," her father had told her, as he placed the weight of an empire in her hands.

That advice had marked her more than any other lesson. Somehow, she understood it quickly. The life of a woman, even in the mafia, was a lonely life. No one would look at her for her brilliant mind, nor for her cunning, nor for her imposing character. They would only see her as a bargaining chip, as a trophy. No one would respect her as a leader if she did not follow the unwritten rules of that dark and dangerous world, and for that she had to be more of a man.

Her father's empire, the Lo Vasto Family, had always been one of the most powerful in Sicily, and Giiuseppa kept it on top with an iron fist. What began as a small organization dedicated to smuggling had grown under her leadership to encompass almost all of Italy.

The riches that her family generated were beyond what any ordinary citizen could understand. But Giuseppa was not only a feared leader, she was also a woman capable of bending even the most powerful men with a look, with a gesture. She was not afraid of death, and her life was surrounded by the scent of gunpowder, whiskey, and the shadow of betrayals to which she responded with the same brutality with which she had learned to walk.

The fame of her beauty, her intelligence, and her cruelty spread beyond the borders of Italy. She was a woman of slender figure and black hair, with porcelain skin. They called her La Regina di Ferro, the Iron Queen. No one dared to challenge her. And yet, no one knew the emptiness that her soul harbored. Again and again, in the dark nights in her private room, she found herself drawing sketches on old papers, creating designs in the hope that one day she could abandon all that. What would a woman like her do if she could live outside the walls of power, if she could simply be... happy?

Despite being feared and respected, Giiuseppa never ceased to be a woman trapped within the walls of a life she had not chosen. Being the only daughter, she had not had the opportunity to dream like others. While other young people spent their days in the pursuit of adventures and pleasures, she had been educated to be a war machine, a strategist, an assassin. She could not be the fashion designer she dreamed of being as a child. The sketches on her desk were silent witnesses to her frustration. She dreamed of creating a line of sensuality and elegance despite the prejudices of the time.

But despite everything, Giuseppa's cunning was limitless. No man could resist her charm, nor her power. She used many, not out of desire, but out of necessity. She needed allies, she needed control, and in this game of power, men were nothing more than pieces to move. Her power over them was not only physical, it was mental. She dominated them with her intelligence, her coldness, and her seduction, and in her bed, she became the absolute queen; her body was one of her weapons, and with that she forged a great empire.

But there was no love. Throughout her life, Giuseppa had known powerful men, men of great influence, but all of them had walked away from her in the end. No one could sustain her inner fire, no one could endure the intensity of her ambition. The only man who, in some way, seemed to understand her was Pietro, her young right hand. He was only twenty-two years old, and his loyalty to her was unwavering. He did not do it for power, but for love, for an unconditional admiration for the woman who had saved him, who had transformed him into what he was. But Pietro was young, and his love for her was wrapped in the freshness of youth, something that Giuseppa knew could not last because it was frowned upon, she was a 45-year-old lady, although very beautiful.

Despite her power, there was something that Giuseppa could never have: the love of parents. Since her childhood, she had been trained to be strong, to be unstoppable. She had never received that tender love that ordinary people enjoyed. She had not had the opportunity to simply be a daughter. And now, looking at young Pietro, she thought about what her life could have been if circumstances had been different. Could she have been happy? Could she have had a life full of love and creativity, far from death and violence?

One night, after a meeting in which there was blood, a traitor had fallen before her eyes, by her hand. She saw the life leave his eyes and her pulse did not tremble; she had already lost count of how many deceased she carried on her shoulders. Giuseppa returned to her mansion. That mansion that had witnessed so many crimes, so many betrayals, suddenly felt empty. She walked through its corridors with slow steps, almost as if the weight of the years and the decisions made crushed her. She didn't want anymore. She no longer wanted to lead, she no longer wanted blood on her hands. Her body, marked by the scars of so many battles, cried out for rest. She had spent so long in her war that she didn't even know if there was anything left of herself.

She sat in the chair in front of her desk. On the wall, a mirror reflected a strong woman, with a steely gaze, but in her heart, an infinite sorrow. She took the antique gun that her father had left her, a family heirloom, a unique piece. She caressed it, as if she were saying goodbye to her life.

The room was in absolute silence. Pietro was outside, attending to family matters, but Giuseppa knew that she would not see the dawn again. She could not continue living this way. She could not continue being the Iron Queen, a woman trapped in an empire that she no longer wished to rule.

In her last thoughts, she thought about what she could never be. She thought about the clothes she always dreamed of designing, about the quiet life she could have had if she had taken a different path, about the heap of murders by her hand and how bad that was. "If there was a God, she would not be forgiven and, although she had a part, it was not entirely her fault." She thought of young Pietro, who would probably never understand why his queen had fallen. But the life of Giuseppa Lo Vasto was always one of difficult decisions, and this would be no exception.

With a steady hand, she held the gun against her chest. There was no turning back. The queen fell by her own hand, leaving behind a legacy of power, blood, and broken dreams.

"My Pietro..."

The last shot echoed in the house, like an echo of an era that was ending, a sad life that she did not agree to live.

From the age of eighteen, Aurora Rossetti was a shadow of what she could have been. The only daughter of a powerful family in the world of fashion and advertising, she was a bright, studious, and sensitive young woman. But she never saw the cage in which she had been locked. From the first day of high school, her best friend, Sabrina Cortesi, became her light and her darkness.

She had charisma, beauty, and a sharp tongue hidden behind a sweet smile; she was a cruel being. She was the one who approached Aurora with apparent affection and advice wrapped in poison. The convention that she should dress "boldly" to stand out, when in reality it made her look vulgar, out of tune, and even ridiculous. Garish, overly tight clothes, nothing that represented Aurora's noble essence. It made her look like a caricature of herself, something that gradually isolated her from the rest.

The suitors who had once been interested in Aurora were driven away one by one. Sabrina always found a way to make them seem inadequate, or she would speak badly of her behind her back. Little by little, her social world was reduced to one person: Sabrina.

Aurora, blinded by what she believed was friendship, began to doubt her own parents. Sabrina insinuated that her mother only wanted her to be perfect to show off, and that her father did not value her as a woman but as an heir. Whenever she could, she incited her to fight with them, to feel misunderstood and alone.

Day by day, her self-esteem declined more; she felt empty, she cried silently every day for the unhappy life she had been given. Sabrina had moved her pieces with intelligence and malice to hurt her only because she had loving parents and such a sweet personality that, if it weren't for her, she would be loved by anyone.

Meanwhile, Aurora took refuge in her studies. She studied business administration, marketing, and fashion design; whatever she studied was never enough for her. She got the best grades and, at Sabrina's request, even did her work for her, since they studied business administration together, although Sabrina only passed thanks to Aurora. The poor thing was so naive that she couldn't see the manipulation.

When Aurora turned 21, her father announced that it was time to join the family business: an empire that united fashion and advertising. It was her dream come true because she loved to design in secret for fear that her friend would tell her that this style was not correct; she doubted her own abilities. There, in one of the main halls, she saw him: Massimo Greco, the son of her father's partner. Elegant, confident, brilliant, his perfume filled the place he arrived. He was the man Aurora had silently loved for years.

But the story was not a fairy tale. Sabrina had already set her claws on him. She spoke badly of Aurora, telling him that she was a spoiled young woman who did not want to grow up, selfish, without values and in need of male attention, a hollow woman without abilities who would enter that company only to damage it. That she slept with anyone to feel good, that she mistreated her parents, that she was incapable of doing anything without help. Massimo began to look at her with contempt, to avoid her, while Sabrina clung to him like a seductive shadow under the pretext of being the daughter of another of the company's minority partners.

Although Aurora was a pretty woman, her clothes did not help her. She was tall with blonde hair, her eyes were bluish gray, unique like her heart, her model silhouette, but which was not appreciated under that unclassy and unstylish clothing. She combined wide t-shirts with sequined shorts and heels; sometimes she wore jackets with very short skirts or dresses that had nothing to do with the fashion legacy to which she belonged. Her self-esteem was so mistreated that she saw the signs and dared to doubt herself.

Aurora noticed how her friend approached Massimo, but she only told her that she was trying to help her with him; she made her wear sexy dresses that were actually vulgar and horrendous and appeared in clubs where he was just to make the contempt that Massimo felt for Aurora grow.

Every day, her failures and his snubs depressed her more. The murmurs of her university classmates and the feeling of being alone, hated by her parents and misunderstood by everyone, sank her even further.

Time passed and she continued to see the whispers, the shared laughter between Sabrina and Massimo. But she did not dare to believe it until one afternoon after she was rejected by him at the inauguration of a luxurious club in front of several of his friends and other people who were there, she saw them kissing. Her world collapsed, her soul broke, and life lost meaning.

She arrived at her mansion crying; her parents were traveling, the place felt empty like her soul. She observed her image in the mirror and what was reflected was a waste, a stupid woman.

"Why?" she asked into the nothingness, between tears.

But Sabrina, who had followed Aurora only to make Massimo Greco believe that she was the friend who suffered seeing Aurora's suffering, responded, as if she had been waiting for that moment for years.

"Why? Because you were always pathetic, Aurora. Because everything was given to you without deserving it, money, love, intelligence, everyone's attention!" She shouted full of envy and hatred.

"Because I saw you alone like the idiot you are, that's why I used you. Everyone thinks you're garbage, and they're not wrong. Who's going to believe in you now? No one. And Massimo... Massimo loves me. We're going to get married soon and you're just a social reject."

Aurora didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just remained silent, trapping every word that sank deep into her weak mind; everything was spinning in her mind. She was right, she was nothing more than garbage.

"Here, this is the best sincere gift I can give you; end your damn shitty life," she said, leaving her a bottle of pills to kill herself and then went to cry to Massimo, saying that Aurora threatened to kill herself if he didn't pay attention to her.

That night, alone and destroyed in her room, she wrote a letter. Not to her parents, not to Alessandro. To herself. "I was never enough. I was never pretty. I was never strong. If in another life I could return... I would want to be someone different. Someone who would not let themselves be destroyed."

She took the bottle of pills and, after pouring them into her hand, swallowed them with a glass of water. It wasn't long before she fell unconscious; her soul left her body and, because of a manipulator, a weak mind perished.

Darkness received her. But that was not the end; the young woman was found by a maid when she went to bring her food. She was scared to see her cold and called an ambulance. Her parents were devastated when they received the call; she was dead. The maid felt her cold and without a pulse; there was no doubt.

But once in the clinic, something happened: she had already had her stomach pumped, they had revived her and ended up dictating the time of death and her pulse returned. The machine left the long and high-pitched beep for one in time with her heart in the body of that naive young woman. Giuseppa Lo Vasto had been reborn. The doctors, astonished, could not believe what had just happened. A true miracle, they thought.

The doctors gave the news to her parents even though she was not yet awake and so it went on for days until Giussepa's eyes scanned the whole place: white rooms, a strange thing on the ceiling emitting a light like the sun and sounds she never heard, a smell of lavender ran through her sense of smell and she did not understand where she was. For her, she had just shot and killed herself; now she was in a strange place, everything was new to her.

The doctors approached with questions she did not understand.

"How do you feel, Miss Rinaldi?" A doctor asked cautiously and that only made a clip in her head that unleashed a number of foreign memories, making her more confused and at the same time give her the information she needs.

"Where am I?" She stammered with difficulty.

"You are in the clinic, miss, do you feel well?"

"What year is it?" The question baffled the man in the white coat.

"If you ask how many days you were in a coma, it was only seven; today is June 20, 2024." The young woman was speechless, but she was astute and one of her talents was hiding what she thought and felt. She nodded with a fake smile and her head understood everything.

She did not understand why, but an unknown force had given her another opportunity. Perhaps God, or destiny, had given her a second life, and this time, she would not waste it.

She had an implacable mind, she was a lethal strategist, a woman with centuries of rage and wisdom. Seeing the suffering of the young woman who inhabited her new skin traversed by her memories, she knew that this time she would live differently. Not with violence, but with cunning. Not with blood, but with style. And, for the first time in two lives, she would find her happy ending because from now on she was Aurora Rossetti and everything she did not enjoy she would enjoy in this new opportunity.

Aurora Rinaldi.

Sabrina Cortesi.

The morning sun paints the windows of Milan's buildings with its light. Aurora Rossetti leaves the hospital accompanied by her parents, who look relieved to have their daughter back. In the young woman's eyes, there is determination, but not the arrogance with which she treated others on Sabrina's advice. A memory of the old Aurora invades her mind: "A young woman as important as you cannot speak to the servants, it makes you lose class." Her fists clench; that young woman had been manipulated by that harpy. In her former life, she dealt with vermin like that, only at that time they were cunning men.

She feels some shame seeing the clothes she is wearing; her attire is the same as always: a set of bright sequins, a fuchsia blouse that is too eye-catching, and tight pants with a fluorescent leather print. Her style is excessive and ridiculous. But she doesn't care, because soon she will demonstrate how much she knows about class and fashion. She must make it clear that she is not that rude disguise that has been shown to the world.

When she arrives at the car, a driver she has known since childhood opens the door for her. He observes her for a moment, wondering if he should say something. But Aurora surprises him with a different expression. Instead of her usual disdain towards the man, she smiles at him kindly and, in a serene voice, says:

"Buonasera, Giuseppe," she greets with a slight nod. Thank you for waiting for us.

The man blinks. Miss Aurora... greeting? With respect. No orders, no arrogance. He nods, somewhat confused.

"Buonasera, signorina. The car is ready."

The young woman sits in the back seat, constantly looking at her hands, as if she could find in them the answer to the questions that form in her mind.

During the journey, her parents, still processing recent events, do not speak. The silence is tense, almost palpable. Aurora simply looks out the window, observing a city that seems so different from what she once knew and, yet, so the same. She finds the electronic billboards, the bright screens, the sounds of traffic vulgar. And at the same time, she feels in her fingers the rhythm of this new era, as if each vibration of the car spoke to her in a language she is just beginning to understand.

Upon arrival, the gates of the property open with their usual metallic creak. The mansion rises imposingly, majestically, surrounded by gardens that smell of lavender and rosemary. When she gets out of the car, she greets the guards with a slight nod.

"Good morning. I appreciate your work."

One of them opens his eyes, unable to hide his surprise. Aurora had never spoken to them, much less with respect or with that way of speaking, as if she were an aristocrat.

The house seems the same as in the memories of the body she now inhabits, but something inside has changed. Upon crossing the threshold, she is greeted by Bianca, the housekeeper, with her head bowed.

"Miss Aurora, welcome..."

"Bianca," she interrupts gently, "grazie. Would you accompany me to my room?"

The woman looks up, visibly confused, but nods. As they climb the stairs, Aurora glances at her.

"How long have you been here?"

"Since you were eight years old, signorina."

"Then you know me well."

"Yes, signorina."

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to get to know me again," she says with a soft smile. The woman observes her, and agrees with her very much; this is very similar to the girl she once was, before entering high school.

Once in her room, Aurora sits in front of the mirror. She observes her reflection: a vulgar neckline, inappropriate heels, remnants of garish makeup. She smooths her hair with her hands and murmurs:

"This is not me... this cannot continue like this."

She gets up annoyed and opens the closet. All there are are flashy garments, some even offensive to good taste. Despite not being up to date with the times, she knows that they seem like happy woman costumes. She slams the door shut, exasperated.

"Aurora, dear, how are you feeling?" asks her mother, entering the room with a look full of concern.

Aurora looks at her, and for a moment, she feels a mixture of nostalgia and regret for how that dedicated mother was treated by an ungrateful daughter. She can no longer continue speaking with that dismissive tone, with that air of superiority that made her look like an unbearable child.

"Mother..." she begins, in a soft voice. "I'm fine. In fact, I'm better. I've been thinking a lot, and there are things I need to tell you. Things I never dared to say."

Her mother observes her, surprised by her daughter's tone and calmness, something she had never heard before.

"I don't know what has happened to you, but it seems you have changed. What's wrong, dear?" she asks cautiously.

"I've been thinking a lot about what I did. And..." A slight sigh escapes her lips. "I'm sorry. I've failed you, myself, and everyone around me. I never realized how I was behaving. I was selfish, inconsiderate. I let myself be carried away by the emptiness. But that will change, Mother. I am going to change."

The mother cannot believe what she hears. The young woman, who had previously been so distant and moody, now seems like another person. She doesn't know whether to be happy or afraid, but something in her words inspires confidence. Aurora, in an unexpected gesture, hugs her with a tenderness she had not shown for a long time.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," Aurora murmurs. Her mother nods.

"Rest, darling, and in a while, we'll sit down to eat, does that sound good?"

Aurora nods and lies down. Her mother leaves the room, confused but happy about the big change.

The young woman walks to her huge bathroom. Even in her time, she thought she had luxuries, but this seems like a dream. She undresses and gets into the tub. The water relaxes her body. She allows herself to breathe and think about everything that has happened. She doesn't understand how she is alive after having taken her own life.

When she leaves the bathroom and takes some clothes, she goes down to the dining room. Dinner is served. It is a long, mahogany table, polished with care. Three place settings, as on nights when the family pretends normality. Aurora sits down silently, letting the garish dress speak for her.

Her mother observes her as if trying to read her soul. The father, on the other hand, seems more inclined not to break the silence. In fact, it is not common for them to eat all together.

Aurora takes a spoonful of soup. It smells of basil and tomato. Warm. Simple.

"This... reminds me of midday in Tuscany. When the wind pushes the aroma of the orchards through the windows."

Her mother blinks, confused.

"Have you been to Tuscany?"

Aurora smiles. No, she hasn't. But Giuseppa from 1762, yes.

"Let's say I've read enough to feel part of the landscape," she replies, trying to get away with a smile.

The father puts down the cutlery and finally speaks.

"Aurora, this is... strange. We see you differently. More... mature? Your way of speaking is different. Do you really feel well?"

"I have made mistakes, Father. Many. And I have paid for them. But not everyone who falls breaks. Some of us reform. I am ashamed of the way I treated you. You, the staff, even myself. And yes, I am well."

The mother lowers her gaze. Aurora notices how her eyes become moist.

"Do you mean that... that you are willing to change?"

Her father observes her, attentive.

"I want to recover the honor of the surname I bear, Dad. Not out of obligation, but because I have discovered that it belongs to me more than I thought. You have carried it with dignity. I only added scandal and shame."

Her father approaches her.

"Don't say that, baby. I know we don't have the best relationship anymore, but I love you, and it hurts me that you talk like that."

She smiles; she loves that moment. She finally has the father's love she longed for in her other life.

"I know you can change. We all must. We are here."

After that emotional moment, dinner continues more smoothly. The heavy atmosphere is no longer felt. When finished, Aurora helps take the dishes to the kitchen, despite the staff's protests. She asks for a wooden board and onions to learn how to chop them. Tiziana teaches her how to hold the knife. She laughs when she cries from the smell. For the first time, the staff hears her laugh without sarcasm.

"Signorina, I think that's enough for today; there is still time to cook dinner," says one of the cooks with a smile. Aurora nods, also smiling.

She walks to where her father is and says, smiling:

"Tomorrow we could go for new outfits."

Her mother chuckles.

"New outfits?"

Aurora realizes that she must better organize her memories of the past with those of the present.

"Well, Mother, I need to change my wardrobe. How can you let me dress like this?"

Her parents shake their heads, laughing.

"We've tried everything, but I see that your amnesia won't let you remember," says her mother and takes out her cell phone to search on the company's page.

"Come on, let's see the things you like from the brand's current collection, and tomorrow we'll go to one of our stores to pick everything up."

Between the two they look for class, elegance, structure. Straight-cut trousers, silk blouses, earth tones, also bright but not extravagant, discreet jewelry. She already knows what she wants. She knows what a Rossetti should look like. A lady, not a caricature.

She returns to her room ready to sleep and turns off the light. She sits at the window. The sky is starry. She takes a deep breath.

"Thank you, Aurora," she whispers to the reflection in the glass. "For teaching me that nobility does not come with the cradle, but with decisions. Tomorrow... the real change begins."