My Family Raised Me to Die for My Sister

After the wedding, I was attacked and lost the baby. I lost the ability to ever have children again.

It was a black car with no plates. On a winding mountain road in Messina, it ran me off the cliff. As the car tumbled down, I heard the sound of my own bones breaking.

Right before I lost consciousness, I thought of Marco's face.

My husband, Marco Vitali, the youngest underboss in the Vitali family. He loved children so much. At our wedding, he whispered in my ear that we'd have three – two boys and one girl, and the girl would be just like me. He must be waiting for me to come home, worried sick.

"Elena, hang on," someone whispered as they pulled me from the crumpled car. "Don Salvatore has sent the family's best doctor. You're going to be okay."

I believed them.

Because he's my father, the Godfather of the Moretti family. He spent fifteen years finding me, the daughter lost to him, and brought me into the family when I was at my lowest.

Thinking of their love, even the pain of my shattered bones seemed to hurt a little less.

The hallway outside the operating room was freezing cold. Before they wheeled me in, I vaguely saw Marco standing there, his white shirt stained with my blood, his eyes red-rimmed.

"Elena," he held my hand, "I will never leave you. Never."

I believed that too.

Until the operating room doors slammed shut behind me. Until, in the hazy fog of anesthesia, I vaguely heard a conversation from outside the door—

"Don Salvatore, there's hope for Isabella now." It was Marco's voice, low but unable to hide a trembling excitement. "I saw Elena's blood work from the pre-wedding physical. Her blood purity is high enough, her blood type matches Isabella's perfectly. A heart transplant is totally possible! I already tricked Elena into signing the consent form."

Then, Dad's voice.

"Marco, make sure to pay that driver well. Get him to leave for good. No one can ever find out."

"Yes, Don."

"It's a tough break for you," Dad sighed. "Stuck for the rest of your life with a woman who can't have children."

Silence.

"It's okay, Don Salvatore. As long as Isabella gets to live healthy, that's all that matters."

"I knew I could count on you," Dad said, pleased. "After all the trouble finding Elena, this is the day we've been waiting for. I'm going in."

A cold liquid slid into my wound.

It wasn't anesthesia.

It was tears.

So that was it.

So the "finding me" after fifteen years was never about making up for lost fatherly love. So the six months of "being doted on" was just a carefully laid trap for this day. So Marco's "I love you" really meant "Your heart is perfect for the person I truly love."

In my last moment before consciousness faded, I saw Don Salvatore – the most respected bloodline authenticator in all of Sicily – standing under the operating room's shadowless light, a silver scalpel in his hand, walking towards my chest.

Behind him, on another operating table, lay Isabella – the girl they had taken in while I was lost on the streets. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile even playing on her lips.

"Isabella," Dad whispered, bending close to her ear. "Daddy kept his promise, just like you wanted. Sleep for a while, and when you wake up, you'll be Daddy's real daughter."

The silver scalpel came down.

A piercing pain.

Then, endless darkness.

When I woke up again, I was in the family estate's private hospital room.

The first breath I took after opening my eyes felt like someone hammering red-hot nails into my chest. My heart – no, the heart beating there now wasn't mine anymore – it pulled at every nerve, every pulse sending a shiver through my scalp.

I gritted my teeth, trying to take a second breath.

But it felt like a boulder was crushing my chest. No matter how hard I tried, the air got stuck in my throat, couldn't get in or out.

My face burned with the effort, then started turning purple.

Just when I thought I would black out again, a dozen monitors in the room started screaming at once. Amidst the piercing alarms, the door burst open and a team of medical staff rushed in.

Following them were my Dad, my Mom, and my husband.

"Let me do it!"

Dad pushed the nurse aside, placed his hands on my chest and started CPR. His technique was precise, his pressure just right.

After a few compressions, the suffocating feeling eased a little.

Every breath still felt like knives slicing inside my chest, but at least the drowning sensation was gone.

"I'm so sorry, Elena."

Marco leaned over the bed, his eyes red again.

"I shouldn't have let you go out alone that day. Losing our baby... it's all my fault."

I didn't say anything, just watched him.

"Elena," he shed fake tears, gripping my hand tighter. "Dad said during the surgery they found the attack didn't just damage your uterus, it hurt your heart's core too. Your bloodline is showing signs of rejection."

"But don't worry, Elena. I love you. I'm not giving up on you." His tears fell on my hand, warm. "Dad will find a way to fix you. Seeing you struggling to breathe just now... it really hurt me..."