The Don's Orphan Wife Is A Mafia Empire Princess (Elara) novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Bianca collapsed onto the floor, scrambling backward in desperation.

“Don, let me explain… I was forced… they threatened me…”

His mother entered, her face icy, and slammed a thick bundle of documents and photos onto Bianca’s chest.

The papers fanned across the floor-proof of clandestine meetings with rival families, intelligence sold for profit, and the forensic report from the shooting six months ago, revealing the entire “heroic act” had been staged with actors and props.

“Explain?” Giovanni demanded.

As Bianca reached for the scattered photos, he pressed his boot down on her hand-the same hand that had once played the piano to seduce him.

He applied steady pressure, listening to the crack of metacarpals, feeling nothing but cold satisfaction.

“Ah! My hand! Don, please… I was wrong…” Bianca screamed, writhing in agony.

Giovanni crouched, gripping her chin, forcing her to meet his bloodshot eyes.

“You used these hands to play for me, to plot against Elara, and to betray the Family.” His tone was soft, almost intimate, but it carried the chill of hell itself.

“Since these hands are so tainted-”

“You don’t need them anymore.”

He rose and took a sledgehammer from a nearby bodyguard.

“No! No! Giovanni! I love you! I really love you!”

He swung the hammer without hesitation-once, twice, three times-until her hands were unrecognizable mangled flesh and bone. Bianca finally passed out, collapsed on the floor like a discarded animal.

Panting heavily, Giovanni threw the bloody hammer aside, yet the emptiness in his chest only deepened.

His mother observed with cold detachment.

“Drag her out and feed her to the dogs. Clean up the mess.”

She approached him, eyes unreadable.

“So what if you’ve purged the rot? Elara is already gone.”

Giovanni froze.

He staggered from the interrogation room, fumbling for his phone and frantically dialing Elara’s number.

Off. Switched off.

At that instant, a text a

[Mr. Giovanni, your d

d from his lawyer:

e proceedings with Ms. Elara have been officially finalized.]

His hand trembled as he held the phone. Panic surged through him, a tidal wave of terror he had never known. She truly didn’t want him anymore.

He slammed the gas pedal to the floor, the sports car roaring like a beast along the winding mountain road.

Impossible. That woman, Elara, couldn’t survive without him. This had to be another one of her tricks. Just like before… all he needed to do was coax her, offer a few diamonds, and she’d obediently tear up the divorce papers and throw herself into his arms.

“Damn it, Giovanni, you’ve really gone too far this time,” he muttered to himself, fighting the rising tide of panic.

“I’ll get on my knees if I must, just to make her stop this madness.”

The car screeched to a halt at the manor gates.

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Chapter 7

He stumbled into the main hall, shouting:

“Elara! Baby! I’m back! We need to talk!”

Only deathly silence answered him.

The paintings she loved, the flowers she personally arranged, the cashmere blanket she favored-everything was gone. The manor looked as if he had never been married.

“Elara?” The name stuck in his throat.

His gaze fell to the coffee table. Two lone items remained: the signed **Declaration of Secession from the Family**, and a torn ultrasound slip.

Hands trembling, he picked up the slip. A blurry black dot stared back at him, a sharp sting in his eyes. On the paper’s edge was a smear of dark, dried blood.

It was her blood-the blood she had shed when he had forced the doctors to drain her to save that wretched Bianca.

“Ah!”

His knees buckled. He collapsed to the floor, letting out a guttural roar like a dying beast. Like a lunatic, he pressed the bloodstained paper to his chest, tears and mucus streaking his face.

Gone. His wife was gone. His child was gone. His home was gone. Giovanni, you deserve to die, he thought bitterly.

Meanwhile, across Europe, a private jet touched down at the most secretive airfield in Sicily.

The cabin door opened, and dozens of black-suited bodyguards armed with concealed weapons bowed in unison, perfectly synchronized.

“Welcome home, Princess.”

Elara descended the ramp, her heels clicking sharply, her expression icy.

This was no ordinary family estate-it was the fortress of the Vercourt family, Europe’s oldest and bloodiest Mafia dynasty. She was the Principessa, the cherished daughter who had been missing for three years.

the grand hall, her father-the venerable Vercourt Godfather-sat in a high-backed red velvet chair, the symbol of

nate power, polishing an antique pistol.

brother, Sebastian, the Underboss and family enforcer, loomed nearby, smoking a cigar, his face dark with fury. ng the scars on Elara’s wrists and the pale lines of her face, he crushed a whiskey glass in his fist.

“Damn Giovanni.” Sebastian’s teeth ground together, his piercing blue eyes-so like Elara’s-burning with hellfire.

“He used my sister as a blood bag? And he killed her child for a low-life whore?”

Elara sank onto the sofa, weary.

“Papa… Sebastian… I’m

The old Godfather paus

1,” she whispered.

Lowering his gun. In that instant, it felt as if a lion had awakened.

“My daughter sacrificed herself for that worthless Isabella out of love.” His voice was low, raspy, but carried the authority that made the European underworld tremble.

“Since that bastard cannot cherish her, the Vercourt family owes him nothing.”

Sebastian slammed his sidearm onto the table, rising abruptly.

“Pass down my orders!”

“From this moment forward, we are at war with the Giovanni family!”

“Cut off all arms shipments. Blockade every port in Naples. Anyone supplying Giovanni is now an enemy!”

“I want him kneeling in Sicily’s mud, watching his empire crumble!”

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