Chapter 1

In her sixth year married to a mafia husband, Elena Russo found out the marriage certificate in her hand was fake.

And Dante Caruso’s legal spouse… was someone else.

The private hospital hallway was cold as a blade. The ER lights kept flashing.

A nurse stared at the screen, re-checking again and again. The error message popped up like it was laughing at her. The nurse’s patience snapped, her voice turning sharp.

“Ms. Russo, the patient has critical injuries. He could die at any moment. Stop wasting time with fake documents.”

“Either fix your information, or call his real next of kin to sign. Now.”

Elena froze. Her ears rang.

“Fake…? How is that possible? We’ve been married six years. Is your system messed up?”

The nurse’s expression got even worse. She spun the computer toward Elena.

On the record page, under Elena’s marital status, it clearly said:

Single.

The nurse stabbed the screen with her finger. “This syncs with the city registry. It doesn’t ‘mess up.’”

Then she clicked another line, speaking faster and colder.

“And we also found this: Mr. Caruso registered a marriage three years ago. Spouse name: Bianca Caruso.”

“Call her, or call another relative. Don’t drag this out.”

It felt like someone swung a hammer into Elena’s skull.

Her grip crushed the marriage certificate. Her knuckles went white.

In the photo, the two of them were pressed close—so close it burned her eyes.

Back then, when Dante handled the paperwork, he’d said his family background was “complicated.” The process was “special.” A “legal back channel.”

She didn’t even have to show up. He said he’d take care of everything.

And he did.

Their “marriage” was something only their families and a few of his people knew about.

She’d even defended it—thinking it was just how the underground worked. Quiet. Hidden. No spotlight.

Turns out, from that moment on, the trap was already around her.

But Bianca?

His “sister.”

The girl he’d brought home, swearing he’d protect her for life.

Questions stacked up until Elena couldn’t breathe. She wanted to storm in, grab Dante by the collar, and demand the truth.

But then she looked through the glass—saw him barely breathing on that table—and her tears slammed down hard.

She’d known Dante for more than ten years. She’d been his “wife” for six.

To the rest of New York’s underworld, he was the Caruso heir people feared.

To her, he’d been… good. Too good.

He’d remember something she mentioned once in public and treat it like a rule.

He’d come home late at night and still wash her clothes with his own hands. Bring her water. Rub her feet.

He’d bring back weird little gifts from all over the world just to make her laugh, like she was a kid.

Outside of “family business,” he was glued to her. Always.

He said he hated leaving her alone too long. Said he couldn’t stand not seeing her.

She once told him she was scared of pain.

So he got a vasectomy.

He said, “It’s just us. I’m not risking your life. No kids is fine.”

A man like that—

How was she supposed to believe none of it counted?

In the end, Elena had no choice. She called Donna Valeria Caruso to come sign.

On the phone, the woman’s voice was pure superiority. A few lines and the hospital legal team immediately cleared the surgery—while she shoved Elena straight into the dirt.

“I told you you were bad luck. I told him not to touch you. He never listens.”

“Now look. He rushed back to celebrate some stupid anniversary with you and almost died for it.”

“Married all these years and your belly’s still empty. Now you almost got him killed too—are you trying to wipe out the Caruso line?”

Elena had heard it a thousand times.

And every time, it still hit like nails in her chest.

She tightened her grip on her phone. After she hung up, tears just kept falling.

She prayed the surgery would work. She prayed Dante would wake up and tell her it was all a misunderstanding.

Reality doesn’t care about anyone’s pride.

On the seventh day after surgery, Dante finally woke up.

Elena hadn’t slept in days. A caregiver had forced her home to rest for an hour—then she got the message and sprinted back.

Her fingers had just touched the doorknob when she heard voices inside.

“Dante, you’re finally awake. You have no idea how worried Bianca’s been. She calls every day asking about you. Later you better message her and let her know you’re okay.”

Dante’s voice was weak, rough.

“I told you—don’t bring her up. If Elena hears, she’ll start thinking too much.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Caruso,” the other guy laughed. “But how long are you gonna keep lying? Honestly, you should cut Bianca off. Elena’s sacrificed a lot for you—how many overseas job offers has she turned down?”

“And if she ever finds out—”

“No.” Dante cut him off instantly. His voice went cold. Final.

“She’s not finding out.”

“I’ve kept it covered this long, haven’t I?”

The air felt strangled.

He kept going—low and steady, with a seriousness Elena had never heard him use on her.

“When my father brought Bianca into this family, he made me promise I’d take care of her.”

“She’s always been good. The only time she ever asked me for anything… was a long, stable marriage. That’s it. Nothing else.”

“She doesn’t even care that she can’t have a public identity. She still chose me.”

“So I can’t fail her.”

Then he paused, like he was signing a cruel contract.

“As for Elena…” His voice was flat. “She’ll always be my official Mrs. Caruso. That’s her compensation.”

Outside the door, Elena’s blood turned to ice.

There was a short silence. His friend finally said it—like the thought scared him.

“Dante… don’t tell me you actually fell for Bianca.”

Inside the room—

No denial.

No explanation.

Just dead silence.

And that silence admitted everything.

Elena stood there. Even breathing hurt.

All her waiting suddenly felt like a joke.

He loved Bianca.

So what was Elena?

What were six years of tenderness, promises, and “forever”?

What about the dreams she gave up, the life she shrank, the cage she agreed to live in?

Her eyes burned so hard they went numb—then she realized she couldn’t even cry anymore.

She turned around and walked to the end of the hall like an empty shell.

From a folder near the trash can, she pulled out an offer letter—one that was about to expire.

A job she’d personally clicked Decline on… for Dante.

This time, she opened the email and replied with one word:

Yes.

The reply came back fast. Simple. Clean.

Sydney. Australia.

Two weeks. Departure confirmed.

Before, his identity had locked her down. Leaving the country meant approvals, reports, Caruso legal signatures.

But now—

If she was never his legal wife in the first place…

Then she could finally be free.

And she could finally stop tying herself to a man who had never been fully hers.