Waking Up To The Mafia Don's Betrayal

I woke up from a five-year coma, only to find my death certificate filed away—signed by my own husband.

Dante Vitiello, the Don of New York, looked at me like a miracle, but he was holding the hand of another woman.

Sofia Bianchi was wearing my diamonds, living in my house, and standing beside the man I had built an empire for.

But the true betrayal wasn't the mistress. It was my son.

When I reached out to Leo, my baby, he recoiled in terror and buried his face in Sofia's dress.

"Go away!" he screamed.

"Mama Sofia said you're a monster! You're a ghost!"

Sofia smiled at me, a sharp, victorious blade. She didn't just steal my husband; she rewrote my son's memories to make me the villain.

To protect the family alliance, Dante forced me to stay silent.

When Sofia later rammed my car on the racetrack to finish the job, Dante ran past my bleeding body to comfort her over a broken nail.

When she faked a fatal illness, he dragged me from my recovery bed. He forced me to donate my rare blood to save her.

"Do it for the family, Elena," he said, watching the life drain out of me to fill the veins of the woman who destroyed us.

That night, I didn't just leave. I erased myself.

I left my wedding ring on a cliff's edge and let the world believe Elena Vitiello had finally drowned.

Six months later, Dante sat in the audience of a global tech summit in Zurich, desperate to find his dead wife.

I walked onto the stage in a white suit, looking him dead in the eye.

"My name is Kate Harding," I announced.

And I prepared to burn his world to ash.

Chapter 1

The ink on my death certificate was five years old, dried and filed away, signed by the man who was currently holding my hand and weeping about miracles.

I lay in the sterile white bed of the Vitiello Sanatorium, my muscles atrophied and my mind racing to catch up with a reality that had moved on without me.

Dante Vitiello sat beside me.

He was the Don of the New York families now. I didn't need to be told; I could tell by the cut of his bespoke Italian suit and the way the guards outside the glass door stood with their hands clasped over their groins, terrified to breathe too loudly.

"Elena, my love," he whispered, pressing his forehead against my knuckles. "You came back to us."

Us.

I looked past him.

My parents, Carlo and Maria, stood in the corner. They did not look like people witnessing a resurrection. They looked like people who had just been caught stealing silver from the church collection plate.

"Where is Leo?" I asked. My voice was like gravel grinding in a mixer.

Dante stiffened. "He is at the estate. He is safe."

I tried to sit up. The machines beeped in protest.

"I want