My Mafia Husband Regretted After I Faked My Death

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

For ten years, I dimmed my own light to be his perfect silent partner, the dutiful wife who gave him the perfect heir.

I thought we were the lovers who wou ld die for each other.

Then came a mere associat.

My husband and son had formed an alliance with the woman who seem want to take my place.

But they just said, "Elena, you have the crown and the kingdom. She has nothing but us. Be generous."

So, to make her smile, my husband trampled on my dignity again and again.

To please her, my son affectionately calls her "Mom."

In their eyes, I was the iron wall, the woman who would swallow any insult for the sake of the family honor.

Until the fire.

My husband locked me inside the burning room, to let me "reflect" on my jealousy.

He didn't know that the fire didn't kill me. But it burned away the last ash of my love for him.

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