The Don’s Runaway Wife

Elena Rossi married Victor Moretti, the most feared mafia Don in the underground world.

For three years, he treated her like a queen.

Everyone said the ruthless Don was madly in love with his wife.

Elena believed them.

Until the night everything fell apart.

At a family banquet, Elena was drugged.

When she begged Victor to stay with her, he simply told his guards to take her to the hospital—then left to meet her sister.

In that moment, the love Elena had once been so proud of shattered.

She soon learned the cruel truth: Victor had married her only because he believed she was the woman who once saved his life. And now that the “real” savior had appeared—her sister—Elena had become nothing more than a mistake.

So Elena made her choice.

She quietly arranged everything, had Victor unknowingly sign the divorce papers, and disappeared from his world—carrying his unborn child.

Only after she was gone did Victor realize.

The woman he thought he married out of gratitude had long become the one he could not live without.

The woman who had saved his life years ago had been Elena all along—only she had been injured back then and lost that part of her memory.

By the time the truth came to light, Elena was already gone.

The cold-blooded mafia Don who once controlled the entire underworld finally lost control.

That night, I realized something I had never allowed myself to see before— in Victor’s world, I had never been the most important person.

“I don’t feel well… I think someone drugged me.”

My fingers tightened around the sleeve of his suit as I spoke, my voice trembling. Heat rushed through my body, my breathing turning shallow and uneven, and the floor beneath me seemed to tilt as I struggled to stay upright.

Victor glanced down at me, those deep blue eyes as calm and unreadable as the ocean. For a moment he slipped an arm around my waist, clearly about to escort me out, but his phone rang before we could take a step.

He answered, listened for a few seconds, and then slowly let go of me.

“Take Donna to the hospital,” he instructed one of his men. Then he looked back at me, his tone as steady as if we were discussing a routine business matter. “Elena, I have something to handle. I’ll check on you later.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

“Victor, I’m your wife. Someone just drugged me, and you’re sending me to the hospital alone?”

A faint crease appeared between his brows, the same expression he used whenever he thought I was being unreasonable.

“Be good,” he said quietly. “This is important.”

Then he turned and walked out of the ballroom.

I stood there, watching his broad back disappear into the crowd, my heart tightening as if an invisible hand had closed around it.

What could possibly be more important than that?

The drug was spreading through my system fast. I bit down