The Don's Orphan Wife Is A Mafia Empire Princess (Elara) novel Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The Vercourt family’s declaration of war struck like a nuclear bomb, obliterating half of the Giovanni family’s influence in a single night.

This was only the opening salvo in the Vercourt’s revenge.

That evening, a bulletproof Rolls-Royce, its white flag barely visible through the storm, rolled to a stop at the gates of the Vercourt estate.

Giovanni’s mother-the once-arrogant Isabella-descended from the car alone.

She looked years older, her air of untouchable superiority stripped away.

Elara met her in the drawing room.

“Elara… no, Miss Vercourt,” she said, her gaze lingering on Elara with a mix of respect and fear.

“I have not come to plead for mercy. I know my ungrateful son has committed unforgivable sins.”

She pulled a thick stack of documents from her bag and slid them across the table toward Elara.

“These are the deeds to one-third of our Sicilian territory, along with the control rights to our two most profitable Mediterranean shipping routes.”

“This is compensation. I only ask that the Vercourt family spare Giovanni’s life.”

Sebastian, standing behind Elara, scoffed.

“You think a bribe like this buys a man’s life?”

Isabella drew a deep, steadying breath, as though preparing herself for a final act.

“I have convened the Commissione. Given Giovanni’s reckless actions and the catastrophic losses he has caused, he is officially stripped of his title as Don.”

“From today onward, he holds no power. He is merely a commoner, stripped of everything.”

“This is all I can do as a mother.”

Elara’s eyes skimmed the documents without emotion.

“Fine,” she said, gathering the deeds. Her tone was cold, precise, like closing a business transaction.

“As long as he never sets foot before me again, the Vercourt family will cease their attacks. We are even.”

Isabella regarded Elara’s unyielding posture, seemed to open her mouth, then thought better of it and turned to leave.

Though a truce was reached, Giovanni did not honor it.

The following night, a violent storm battered the coast.

Elara stood on the castle’s third-floor terrace, swirling a glass of dark crimson wine.

Below the iron gates, a

It was Giovanni.

e knelt in the mud, soaked to the bone.

Gone was his swagger. His clothes hung in tatters, his face unshaven, looking like a stray animal.

Next to him in the muck lay a mangled heap of flesh-it was Bianca.

She had not been fed to the dogs. Giovanni had dragged her back from hell at the last moment.

She had been tortured beyond recognition; limbs twisted at grotesque angles, tongue cut out, able to emit only guttural cries of anguish.

Giovanni dragged her forward, howling toward the balcony.

“Elara! My Princess! I know you’re watching!”

“I brought this bitch to you! I broke her hands and feet myself! Do whatever you want!”

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Chapter

“Chop her up, feed her to the dogs, I don’t care!”

“I don’t want the position of Godfather! I don’t want the family! I only want you!”

“Please… just look at me once! Even if you kill me to vent your rage, fine! Don’t ignore me!”

Rain and mud plastered his face; it was impossible to tell tears from precipitation.

He slammed his forehead repeatedly against the iron bars. Blood streamed down, turning the puddle beneath him a deep crimson.

“Elara! I was so wrong!” His wails pierced the storm, chilling anyone who heard them.

Elara’s gaze, cold as the wine in her glass, met the desperate scene.

Once, a frown from him would have made her heart ache for hours.

Now, watching him grovel in the mud for love, she could only laugh.

“Sebastian,” she called softly.

Her brother stepped from the shadows.

“Want me to put a bullet in him?”

Elara took a slow sip of her wine, shaking her head.

“No need. That would soil the Vercourt family grounds.”

She turned from the storm, her voice icy.

“Close the curtains.”

“This bulletproof glass does its job. Don’t let him disturb my sleep.”

Sebastian ignored Bianca, who was being dragged away like a carcass.

Instead, his azure eyes fixed on Giovanni, cold and merciless.

“Elara doesn’t want to see you,” he said. “But since you refuse to leave, as Underboss, I must collect a little interest on behalf of my sister.”

He drew a silver revolver from his waist, spun the cylinder, ejected all bullets, and left only three loaded.

Click.

With a practiced flick, the cylinder spun and locked into place. He tossed the gun at Giovanni’s feet.

“Russian Roulette. The oldest Mafia rule.”

Sebastian puffed on his cigar, staring down at him.

“You want forgiveness? Prove your sincerity. Pull the trigger three times on yourself. Survive, and I might let you walk away. Die, and you become fertilizer for the rose garden.”

Giovanni looked at the g

nwavering. Anything to mollify Elara.

He bent down, picked up cold revolver, and pressed it against his left thigh.

“This shot is for my blindness, for trusting the wrong person.”

Bang!

The bullet tore through his thigh. Agonizing pain dropped him to one knee, but he didn’t flinch.

Grimacing, he raised the gun to his abdomen.

“This shot is for hurting Elara and killing our child.”

Bang!

Blood stained his white shirt instantly. Pain nearly made him collapse, but he held himself upright.

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He looked toward the sealed windows on the third floor, vision blurring.

One shot remained.

Giovanni inhaled deeply and aimed at his own heart.

“Elara… if I survive, will you forgive me?”

Just as he tightened his finger on the trigger, a leather-clad foot smashed his wrist.

The pistol flew across the mud.

Sebastian glared at the blood-soaked Giovanni as if inspecting trash.

“Enough. Take your filth and leave. Don’t soil my sister’s territory.”

He turned, walking through the gates, leaving only a ruthless silhouette behind.

“Drag him to the nearest hospital. Don’t let him die at the manor gates-that’s bad luck.” Giovanni collapsed in a pool of his own blood, staring at the window that would never open again, as darkness claimed him.

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