Discarded Mafia Bride: My Empire Rises

I woke from a five-year coma not to the faces of my family, but to my own death certificate.

It was signed by my parents and my fiancé, Dante Moretti, the most ruthless Don in our world. He had sworn on his father's grave to wait for me. Instead, he replaced me with Sienna—the very woman who put me in that hospital bed.

My own son, Luca, looked at me with cold, unfamiliar eyes.

"You're not my mother," he sneered, hiding behind the woman who wore my face.

My parents rushed to shield her, not me. "You must understand the bigger picture," my father said. "We did what was necessary for the Famiglia."

But the final betrayal came after Sienna pushed me off a bridge and needed a blood transfusion. My own parents signed the consent form to use my blood, and my fiancé gave the order. "Save her," he snarled.

The nurse told me they were ordered to "discard the blood bag after use." As if I were trash.

I walked out of that hospital, a ghost in my own life. I took the new identity my old professor offered and vanished. This time, I wouldn't be Elara Bianchi, the tragic fiancée. I would build an empire of my own.

Chapter 1

Elara POV:

The first thing I saw after waking from a five-year coma wasn't my name, but my death certificate, signed by my fiancé and my own parents.

The government clerk in the Swiss office slid the paper across the counter, her expression a study in bureaucratic indifference. "Elara Bianchi was declared legally deceased on October 12th, five years ago."

My hands trembled. The name felt foreign on my tongue, the ghost of a person I no longer was. "That's impossible. I'm right here."

She tapped a line on the form. "The applicants for the death certificate were Marco and Isabella Bianchi."

My parents.

A chill, profound and invasive, washed over me. I had to grip the counter to keep from collapsing.

"And the signatory witness," she continued, her voice a flat monotone, "was Dante Moretti."

Dante. The Don of the Moretti Famiglia. The most powerful man in our world, a ruthless king carved from marble and violence, his empire built on the bones of his enemies. My fiancé. The man who swore on his father's grave that he would wait for me.

The memory didn't just return; it slammed into me with the force of the crash itself. The screech of tires. The sickening crunch of metal against bone. I had thrown myself in front of that car, taking the hit that was meant for him. For my Don.

"Is there anything else?" the clerk asked, her gaze already drifting past me.

"His... his wife," I managed to whisper, the words tasting like ash. "Who is Dante Moretti's wife?"

She clicked a few keys. "Sienna Vance."

Sienna. The name was a phantom, but the face that flashed through my memory was a terrifyingly familiar specter-my own.