The Don's Orphan Wife Is A Mafia Empire Princess (Elara) novel Chapter 1

Chapter 1

At the most illustrious gala the family hosted all year, my husband-the Don himself, Giovanni-made his entrance with his secretary, Bianca, resting possessively on his arm.

Fastened to her chest was a ruby brooch-an unmistakable emblem of the *Isabella*, the acknowledged mistress of the family.

Before I had the chance to speak, Giovanni flicked his gaze toward me, his expression lazy and detached.

“Elara,” he said coolly, “don’t be so small-minded.”

He dabbed the corner of his lips with a linen napkin, as though this entire scene were perfectly natural.

“Bianca shielded me from a bullet. She admired the brooch, so I let her wear it for a while,” he continued lightly. “In any case, you’re still the only Isabella. Try to conduct yourself with dignity.”

Bianca’s fingers brushed the ruby as she smiled sweetly, her eyes filled with deliberate provocation.

“That’s right, Elara. The Don said red flatters me more. It’s only a brooch-surely you’re not upset?”

Giovanni gave her an indulgent look before turning back to me, his voice softening into something almost coaxing.

“If this bothers you, I’ll buy you a larger diamond at next week’s auction,” he promised. “Be a good girl and don’t embarrass me in front of the family.”

I met his practiced tenderness with emptiness that felt colder than ice.

I had been Giovanni’s wife for three years. The world trembled at his cruelty, yet he had always treated me with exceptional

care.

That changed six months ago-after Bianca threw herself into the line of fire for him during a shootout.

What began as guilt-driven concern slowly transformed into limitless indulgence.

On our wedding anniversary, during a candlelit dinner prepared down to the last detail, Bianca called him in tears, complaining that her wound hurt. Giovanni left immediately, abandoning the half-sliced cake and me alone at the table until sunrise.

Last month, when I lay burning with a 102-degree fever, shaking beneath the blankets, I asked him for a glass of water. At that exact moment, Bianca phoned, claiming the thunder frightened her.

Giovanni grabbed his coat without hesitation. “Take your medicine,” he said curtly, already heading into the storm.

He always used the same excuse-she had been injured for his sake, so I needed to be understanding.

I calmly set my knife and fork down.

“If she likes it that much,” I said evenly, “she can keep it.”

I removed my wedding ring and slid it across the long table. Along with it went a divorce agreement I had prepared long ago, both stopping neatly in front of Giovanni.

“This seat besi you,” I added quietly. “I’m relinquishing that as well.”

The smile on Giovanni’s face shattered. His deep blue eyes darkened, a lethal chill spreading instantly.

“Elara, don’t play games,” he warned. “Are you trying to threaten me in front of the Capi?”

My expression remained composed.

“I’m serious. Sign it, Giovanni.”

He studied me intently, searching for any hint of flirtation, any sign this was a calculated act.

After a long, suffocating silence, he snorted, seized a fountain pen, and scrawled his name across the document.

“Fine,” he said coldly. “If you want to pretend you’re some tragic runaway wife, be my guest.”

He slammed the agreement onto the table, contempt blazing in his eyes.

“You’re nothing but an orphan. Without the Family’s protection, you won’t survive three days in Sicily. I’ll give you a week before you come crawling back, begging for forgiveness.”

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To him, I was merely an ornament useless without his shelter.

I picked up the signed papers and stood, leaving without another word.

Giovanni didn’t even glance in my direction. He resumed laughing and conversing with Blanca, convinced this was nothing more than a tantrum.

Back at the estate, I retrieved an encrypted satellite phone I hadn’t touched in three years.

Giovanni had never known the truth-I was no orphan. I was the youngest daughter of the oldest Mafia family in Europe.

But my family and his had been sworn enemies for generations. To marry him, I had changed my name and cut all ties with my father and brothers.

The line connected.

I closed my eyes, drew a steady breath, and whispered,

“Papa, I made a mistake. Send someone for me in two weeks.”