The Don's Orphan Wife Is A Mafia Empire Princess (Elara) novel Chapter 4

After reading it, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“You actually believe something this poorly written?”

Giovanni seized me by the throat and slammed me into the wall, his eyes blazing red.

“A lie? She was willing to die for me-what reason would she have to deceive me? But you, Elara… how did I never see how poisonous you are?”

“You know she has no one backing her. Without the Family’s protection, she’s as good as dead! You’re driving her straight to her

grave!”

I didn’t bother explaining. Straining against his grip, I forced out a few words.

“Whether she lives or dies has nothing to do with me.”

“You-!”

His fingers tightened-then suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrated violently.

He released me and answered the call.

From the other end came Bianca’s shrill screams, mixed with gunfire.

“Don! Help me! There are so many hitmen-Elara’s people! They said they’re here to kill me-ah! My leg!”

The line went dead.

Giovanni’s face drained of color before twisting into something feral.

He turned toward me, murderous intent radiating from his eyes.

“Did you leak her location?”

“Elara, you’ve gone too far. If she dies, I’ll make you regret ever being born.”

With that, he stormed out like a raging tempest.

I slid down the wall and collapsed onto the floor, fingers brushing the bruises on my neck as laughter tore out of me-so hard it

blurred into tears.

Giovanni, you are hopelessly stupid.

If I truly wanted her dead, she wouldn’t have lived long enough to make that call.

My family never leaves witnesses.

me dragged o

unvaraviy, every passing ou

finally returned.

In his arms was Bianca, drenched in blood.

Her injuries weren’t actually severe-just a knife wound to her leg. It looked horrifying at first glance, but I could tell immediately that no vital artery had been touched.

Giovanni exuded violence. After handing Bianca over to the doctor, he turned toward me without hesitation.

“Take her to the torture chamber,” he commanded the bodyguards in a voice devoid of warmth.

Two burly enforcers forced me to my knees on the freezing stone floor.

Moments later, Bianca reappeared, her wound neatly bandaged. She leaned weakly against Giovanni’s chest, her steps

unsteady.

“Don… please don’t blame Elara,” she sobbed softly. “Maybe I accidentally upset her…”

She cried like a rain-soaked pear blossom-fragile, pitiful, flawless.

Giovanni looked at her with aching tenderness before shifting his gaze to me. When his eyes met mine, there was nothing left but cold judgment.

“By Omertà and family law,” he said flatly, “anyone who harms a comrade or colludes with enemies must be punished by the

whip.”

He took a leather whip soaked in saltwater from the wall and tossed it at Bianca’s feet.

“You were the one who suffered,” he said. “You’ll carry out the punishment yourself.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“Giovanni-you’re really going to whip me for this lying woman?”

That whip was reserved for traitors. One strike alone could tear skin and muscle apart.

Giovanni avoided my eyes, his voice rigid and merciless.

“This is discipline. You crossed the line, and you must pay for it.”

“Endure it, Elara,” he added. “Let her release her anger. Then we can move on.”

Bianca bent down and picked up the whip with trembling hands, her voice shaking.

“I… I don’t dare… I’ve never hurt anyone before…”

Giovanni clasped her hand gently, coaxing her.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m right here. She owes you this.”

For a split second, something vicious flashed through Bianca’s eyes.

Then she raised the whip-and brought it crashing down with all her strength.

Crack!

Blinding pain tore through me. Fabric ripped apart; flesh split open. I clenched my teeth and made no sound.

“Oh no… my hand slipped… I’m so sorry, Elara…” Bianca murmured apologetically-yet each strike came down harder than the

last.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Every lash carried her long-awaited satisfaction.

Giovanni stood to the side, watching my blood seep through torn clothing, watching my face drain of color. His fists clenched tightly at his sides.

For a moment, hesitation flickered across his eyes-as though he wanted to stop it.

But when he saw the bandage on Bianca’s leg, he forced himself to remain still.

“This is a warning,” he said coldly, as if convincing himself. “Never touch my people again.”

Cold sweat streamed down my face. My vision blurred, but I kept my spine straight and my gaze locked on Giovanni.

In that moment, every shred of love I had ever felt for him was shredded-lash after lash-into nothingness.

When Bianca finally tired, she stopped, panting.

Giovanni rushed to her side at once, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked softly.

She nodded weakly and nestled into his chest.

“The Don treats me so well.”

Lying in a pool of my own blood, watching their entwined silhouettes, I suddenly let out a low, broken laugh.

“Giovanni,” I said hoarsely, “you’re going to regret this.”

He glanced at me briefly, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face, then ordered someone to bring medical supplies.

He lifted me onto the bed and tried to tend to my wounds, frustration etched into his brow.

“Is this enough now? Do you finally understand that you were wrong?”

His condescending concern made bile rise in my throat.

“Don’t touch me.”

I yanked my hand away and stared at him with lifeless eyes.

Giovanni snapped. He slammed the medical kit onto the table.

“Elara! How much longer are you going to act like this? I already told you-Bianca will never threaten your position. What more do you want? Do I need to rip my heart out for you to believe me?”

“Heart?” I echoed faintly, almost amused. “Do you even have one?”

That was when I noticed the Glock 17 tucked into his waistband.

In an instant, the hatred I had suppressed for so long erupted violently.

Since he insisted I was vicious-since he accused me of being intolerant-I decided to live up to the charge.

I lunged without warning, swift as a predator, and ripped the gun from his waist.

Giovanni’s face changed instantly.

“Elara! Put the gun down!”

I ignored him.

I flipped the weapon around, gripping the barrel, and slammed the heavy pistol butt straight into Bianca’s head as she pretended to collapse beside him.

“Ah-!”

Her scream was cut short as I tackled her to the floor.

Straddling her like a madwoman, I smashed the pistol butt into her forehead and cheeks again and again.

“Didn’t you say I wanted to hurt you?” I snarled. “If you want me to be the villain so badly, I’ll make it real!”

Blood splattered across my face. Bianca didn’t even have time to cry for help-only broken whimpers escaped her throat.

“Stop! You insane bitch!”

Just as I raised the gun, aiming to fire, Giovanni roared in terror. He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, his strength flipping

me off her.

Bang!

My back slammed into the marble wall. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs, pain tearing through my insides.

“Pfft-”

I spat out a mouthful of blood, staining the pristine carpet crimson.

Giovanni didn’t spare me a single glance.

He scooped up the unconscious, blood-covered Bianca in panic.

“Bianca! Wake up! Get the car ready-now! To the hospital!”

He rushed out with her in his arms. As he passed me, he paused briefly and left me with a sentence colder than death:

“If she doesn’t wake up, Elara, I will bury you with her.”