The Godfather Chose My Sister So I Faked My Death

My husband, Victor Falcone, was a mafia godfather whose very name makes the entire underworld tremble.

A year ago, he barely survived an assassination attempt. The trauma gave him severe amnesia, completely wiping out the three months we spent keeping each other alive in the slums.

When he woke up, he was a different man—cold and ruthless. He treated my stepsister like his untouchable first love, spoiling her rotten.

And me, his legal wife? In his eyes, I was just a greedy, desperate woman who wouldn't take a hint.

"Drop the cheap pity act," he’d sneer. "You’re not worth a single hair on Lilia’s head."

Even so, I chose to stay by his side, desperate to spark his memory.

Until today. A rival cartel tied me and his precious "angel" to iron pillars on an abandoned pier.

Beneath our feet is a raging, pitch-black ocean. A thug has the ice-cold barrel of a gun pressed hard against my temple.

Which one of us will he choose?

——

BAM! The iron door was kicked right off its hinges.

Victor stormed in with an army of bodyguards, instantly locking down the entire perimeter.

Lilia was already weeping beautifully, thrashing against her ropes just enough to leave red marks on her wrists.

"Don't mind me! Victor, take Elena and go!"

"She's your wife! Just let me die here!"

She always did this. Playing the ultimate, pitiful victim to twist the knife in as deep as possible.

Victor looked at her with a kind of heartbreak I hadn't seen in him for a very long time.

"Tell me! What exactly is it going to take for you to let them go?" Victor glared ice daggers at the thug.

The cartel boss just let out a grating, malicious laugh.

"Well, Godfather, I'm afraid our speedboat doesn't have enough seats."

He jammed the gun barrel harder against my skull.

"You only get to take one. The other one goes straight into the ocean."

His mocking gaze darted between me and Lilia, intentionally raising his voice for the drama.

"So, make your choice! Your legal, wedded wife? Or the fragile beauty who saved your life?"

In the dead silence, the thug lost patience and fired a warning shot into the ceiling.

BANG!

The deafening gunshot echoed through the empty warehouse.

I stared dead into Victor’s eyes, desperately searching for even a flicker of the man I used to know.

Because the old Victor had severe PTSD from that assassination attempt. During those three months in the slums, a single gunshot would leave him drenched in cold sweat. He’d bury his face in my neck, shaking as he begged, "Elena, please don't leave me."

But now? The echo of the gunshot was still ringing, and Victor didn’t even bat an eye.

He just stood there, completely arrogant, casually flicking a speck of dust off his tailored suit.

In that moment, I let it all go.

This cold-blooded godfather didn’t remember a single thing about our past.

The man who promised to protect me with his life had died the night he lost his memory.

"Victor, please! Save my sister!" Lilia wailed, dramatically dry-heaving.

That over-the-top performance instantly snapped Victor’s last shred of patience.

"Enough! Don't you dare touch her!" Victor roared, pure rage flashing in his eyes.

Zero hesitation. Not even a second of struggle.

"I choose Lilia! Let her go right now!"

Lilia shrieked a fake "No!", but I caught the flash of ecstatic victory in her eyes.

Victor strode forward, ripping off his jacket to wrap her shivering body tightly in his arms. He cradled her chafed wrists so carefully, like she was a priceless treasure.

Then, he met my calm gaze and frowned.

"Elena, you grew up in the slums. You're a strong swimmer, you can hold your own in the water. But Lilia can't. She's too fragile. If she falls in, she'll actually die."

He paused, his tone dripping with a twisted sense of entitled charity:

"Once I get her safely to the speedboat, I'll immediately have my men fish you out. Don't throw a jealous fit at a time like this. Be sensible."

"Tsk, tsk. Guess a marriage license really can't compete with a lifesaver, huh?" The mob boss looked down at me, his eyes full of mockery.

"Mrs. Godfather... in your next life, make sure you find a man who actually loves you."

Before I could even process it, the heavy butt of his rifle smashed brutally into my back.

A blinding pain hit me, followed immediately by an overwhelming feeling of weightlessness.

I plummeted straight down into the freezing, pitch-black ocean.

The wind screamed in my ears.

In the second I fell, I saw him looking down, kissing Lilia’s forehead.

The freezing saltwater instantly swallowed my nose and mouth.

Bone-chilling cold pierced me like steel needles, and the suffocating pressure mercilessly crushed my lungs.

Just as I was about to sink completely into the darkness, a pair of massive, powerful hands grabbed my waist from underwater.

With a dominating, brute force, I was violently thrust up to the surface.

I was hauled roughly onto a sleek black speedboat. A heavy military overcoat—smelling faintly of stale tobacco and gunpowder—was tossed over my head.

"Breathe."

A deep, stone-cold male voice with a heavy foreign accent came from above me.

Blinking through the saltwater mist, I could only make out the towering, mountain-like silhouette of a man.

I clutched that unfamiliar coat tightly around me, violently coughing up the bitter seawater.

Only one thought was echoing in my mind:

I am going to survive.

And I am going to make Victor taste this exact same pain.