My Mafia Husband Regretted After I Faked My Death

My husband is the Don of the New York East Coast.

For a decade, I played the role of the perfect Trophy Wife, raising his heir and managing his household. I believed we were unbreakable.

Until Gina, that low-level associate, showed up.

She was trash from the gutter, disregarding every protocol we lived by.

Yet Marco defended her. "Elena, you have everything. She relies solely on me. You need to be the bigger person."

"I hate this rabbit food!"

My son, Luca—the boy I carried for ten months and raised with painstaking care for seven years—flipped the plate of low-fat nutritional food I had prepared.

He launched himself like a cannonball at the woman who just walked in—Gina.

"I want candy! Gina said I don't have to eat your garbage if I want sweets!"

Gina, wearing a tight red dress that was entirely inappropriate for the occasion, hugged Luca affectionately.

She peeled the wrapper off an expensive imported gummy and shoved it into my son's mouth.

Sitting at the head of the table, the youngest Don in New York history—my husband, Marco—glanced at me with indifferent eyes.

"Elena, I've told you. Stop starving the boy. He's my blood; he doesn't need to count calories."

He took a sip of red wine, issuing orders as casually as if discussing the weather.

"Since you don't know how to raise my heir, Gina will take over as Luca's private governess starting today."

"Clear out the master bedroom. Gina needs to be close to Luca to care for him. You sleep in the guest room."

The Capos and bodyguards standing around the room chuckled darkly.

I was the family’s Mamma , respected for ten years. Now, Marco had thrown my dignity onto the floor for his subordinates to walk on.

In his mind, he gave me the title; I should be grateful and tolerant.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I simply unpinned the family crest from my chest—the symbol of my status as the Don's wife.

"As you wish, Don."

I turned toward the door. Marco’s impatient voice followed me.

"Walking away again? Save the drama, Elena. You know I hate it when women play games."

He was certain I couldn't leave him. He thought I was addicted to this cage of power and gunpowder.

He didn't know I already had a passport waiting in a safe house.

Just as I was about to step out of the villa, Gina let out a dramatic gasp.

"Oh my God! Luca, what happened to your arm?"

That scream made Marco's face go rigid.

He stormed over and yanked up Luca's sleeve.

On the boy's pale arm were shocking purple bruises.

I knew exactly what they were—Gina had painted them on this morning with special effects makeup while no one was looking.

Gina’s eyes turned red, and she covered her mouth, sobbing theatrically.

"No wonder Luca is terrified to eat... It turns out you were secretly..."

Marco's eyes turned colder than a Siberian winter. He stared at Luca.

"Who did this? Tell me, son."

Luca glanced at the candy box in Gina's hand, then at my expressionless face.

He was only seven, yet his eyes held the cunning glint of a liar.

"It was Mom... Mom pinched me. She said if I didn't listen, she'd feed me to the dogs."

My own son's words felt like a death sentence for me.

Marco stood up slowly. The oppressive, violent aura of a crime lord filled the room, suffocating everyone present.

"Bring her here."

Two bodyguards immediately grabbed my shoulders, roughly dragging me back to the center of the living room.

Marco towered over me, looking down with a mix of disappointment and rage.

"Elena, I gave you the world. I made you the most respected woman in the organization . And this is how you repay me? Abusing our son?"

"I didn't do it." I looked him dead in the eye, my voice trembling but firm.

"You still dare to lie to me!"

Marco snatched a whiskey bottle from the table and smashed it violently on the floor.

Amber liquid exploded alongside flying glass shards. One sharp fragment sliced into my thigh.

I was wearing a pure white silk dress.

Blood instantly seeped out, blooming rapidly across the white fabric, a shocking crimson stain.

Five years ago, I took a bullet for Marco during a hit by a rival family. The bullet was laced with mercury. The surgery cost me my spleen and left me with a severe coagulation disorder.

A small wound, if not treated immediately, could lead to fatal hemorrhagic shock.

Watching the bloodstain spread, Marco's pupils constricted. The rage in his eyes flickered, replaced by a flash of panic.

He instinctively took a step forward, reaching out as if to catch me as I swayed.

"Elena..."

But before he could touch me, Gina let out a piercing shriek. She buried her face in Marco’s chest, trembling, while covering Luca’s eyes with her hand.

"Don! The blood! It's so much blood! Luca will be traumatized! Why would she hurt herself just to threaten you? Doesn't she know Luca is still a child? This kind of bloody scene will ruin the heir's courage!"

Gina’s words were poison, instantly triggering Marco’s toxic masculinity and his ego as the Don.

His hand froze in mid-air. The flicker of concern in his eyes hardened into deep annoyance.

He hated being "threatened" by women. In his view, I was his obedient wife. I was supposed to absorb the family's darkness silently, not embarrass him in front of his men.

"Cut the act, Elena."

Marco withdrew his hand, his voice turning cold and arrogant.

"Playing the victim for sympathy only works once. Don't think you can use your old injuries to throw tantrums or threaten your husband."

He turned around, gently wrapping his arm around Gina and guiding Luca out of the dining room. He didn't look back as he issued his cruel order.

"No one touches her."

"Let her stand there. When she figures out how to be a submissive, qualified wife, she can come to me and apologize."

"Until then, no one is to offer her medical aid. She needs to learn a lesson about her arrogance."

The heavy doors of the dining room slammed shut.

In that moment, I finally gave up.

I collapsed onto the cold marble floor, watching the blood pour from my thigh, soaking into the expensive hand-woven carpet.

Flowing out of my body along with the blood was the humble, pathetic love I had held for him.

That burning obsession finally turned cold.