The Don's Orphan Wife Is A Mafia Empire Princess (Elara) novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9

When Sebastian returned, the room was already stripped of movement; Elara had finished packing.

He glanced out the window, catching sight of Giovanni being hauled away, and asked casually, “Heartache?”

Elara closed her suitcase with deliberate calm, as if commenting on the weather.

“Heartache? That died on the operating table long ago. All I feel now is disgust. I don’t want to be bothered by a rabid dog anymore.”

Sebastian nodded approvingly.

“Good. Sicily is a mess right now. That lunatic Giovanni will surely come crawling back once he recovers. You should

go to Switzerland. The lakes and mountains will heal you.”

“I’ve already arranged it. Lucien will meet me in Zurich.”

Lucien? The name sparked in her mind.

Lucien the youngest financial tycoon in Europe, a linchpin of the Vercourt family’s money laundering network, born into old nobility, a true gentleman.

Over ten hours later, the plane touched down at Zurich Airport.

As she emerged from the terminal, a man in a beige trench coat approached with effortless elegance.

“Long time no see, my Princess,” he greeted with a smile, lifting her luggage and kissing the back of her hand with impeccable manners.

Unlike Giovanni, who carried the scent of blood and chaos, Lucien smelled faintly of pine, exuding calm.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Lucien.”

“The honor is mine,” he replied, opening the car door for her with fluid grace.

“Since Sebastian entrusted you to me, it’s my duty to keep you safe. My lakeside villa is secluded; no one will disturb you.”

The car drove into a private estate on Lake Lucerne.

No high walls, no iron fences-just blooming tulips and the sparkling lake.

Lucien showed her the master bedroom, the one with the best view.

“This is your sanctuary,” he said, gesturing toward the distant snow-capped mountains from the terrace.

“Here, you don’t need to be the untouchable Isabella. You can just be yourself.”

Elara studied his gentle profile, and the tension that had gripped her for a month began to unravel.

To keep her from dwelling on past horrors, Lucien cleared his schedule entirely.

He took her skiing in t

He never overstepped

lps, fed swans on Lake Geneva, and even prepared meals rivaling Michelin-starred dishes.

t he was always present, a constant reassurance.

This was probably the “better choice” Sebastian had mentioned.

At the secluded manor in Zurich, the days passed like a dream.

One weekend evening, Lucien lit a small bonfire by the lake for just the two of them.

The flames danced, casting flickering reflections across the water,

Elara, drunk on whiskey, let her bottled-up pain surface.

Leaning on Lucien’s broad shoulder, tears streamed freely.

“Lucien… I don’t understand…”

“I changed my name for him, I took a bullet for him, I became the perfect Isabella for him… I gave everything, and

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what did I get in return? Betrayal.”

“Was I not enough? Was I too domineering?”

Lucien said nothing, simply rubbing her back, comforting her like a child.

He took the glass from her hand and gently wiped her tear-streaked face with a handkerchief.

In the firelight, his amber eyes fixed on her, warm and intent, as if she were the only treasure in the world.

“It’s not that you weren’t enough, Elara,” he said, deep and steady, carrying quiet authority.

“It was the blind fisherman who mistook a pearl for a fish’s eye.”

“You deserve better. Someone who knows how to hold you in the palm of his hand, not a man who lets you take bullets.”

Elara, blurred by intoxication, felt her heart skip.

He leaned down and pressed a soft, restrained kiss to her forehead.

“Sleep. When you wake tomorrow, it will be a new day.”

That night, for the first time in months, Elara slept without nightmares.

Meanwhile, Giovanni languished in the hospital for a full month.

Before his wounds had fully healed, he tore out his IV lines and scoured the globe for her.

Sebastian had deliberately blocked every lead, even releasing hundreds of false traces.

Giovanni combed South America, Southeast Asia, and Antarctica before finally tracking her Swiss exit and entry records.

On the streets of Zurich, the sunlight was blinding.

Giovanni stood frozen at a corner, his gaze landing on the perfect pair ahead.

Elara wore a white dress, holding a bouquet of lisianthus, her smile brighter than the flowers themselves.

The man beside her gently adjusted her wind-tossed hair, his eyes soft and tender.

Lucien. That very gentleman, that calm hypocrite.

Jealousy exploded, incinerating Giovanni’s reason.

He barreled forward, blocking their path.

“Elara!” His voice was ragged, like a revenant crawling from hell.

“Come back with me! The family needs you! I need you!”

Lucien stepped protectively in front of her, eyes icy.

“Mr. Giovanni, I don’t believe Elara wishes to see you.”

“Fuck off! This is betw

nusband and wife!”

Giovanni tried to seize er hand, but she eluded him effortlessly.

She stepped out from behind Lucien, eyes cold, void of warmth, dripping with scorn.

“Go back? Back to where? That cage of lies and betrayal?”

“Giovanni, stop pretending to be the devoted lover. Don’t you find yourself disgusting?”

Giovanni’s voice cracked with desperation.

“Elara, I know I was wrong! Bianca deceived me, but in my heart, it’s always been you!”

“Deceived? Or did you simply go along with it?”

Elara’s smile was sharp, slicing straight into him.

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“Were you

“Did it feel easier to trade a strong Isabella-who could stand beside you or even outshine you-for a weak fool like Bianca who only cried and begged for your protection, satisfying your macho ego?”

“Do you miss me as a person… or just the loyalty and usefulness I offered?”

Giovanni’s face drained of color.

He froze, speechless, because she had revealed the truth he could not deny.

During those days when Bianca fawned, he had indeed enjoyed being worshiped like a god, never meeting Elara’s unflinching gaze.

Elara watched him, expression unreadable, and the last flicker of warmth in her eyes vanished.

“See? You can’t even lie to yourself.”

She slid her arm through Lucien’s, turning without a backward glance.

“Let’s go, Lucien. The air here is poisoned.”

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