After the Don’s Wife Left, She Returned to Her Empire

On the day I went into labor, I called my husband ninety-nine times while I was bleeding in a broken-down car, but on the hundredth, his assistant answered calmly.

"Mr. Falcone has taken the private jet to fly his pregnant wife to the hospital."

Pregnant wife? I was his wife.

But that wasn't the worst part.

When I woke up, my baby was gone and then I heard the truth.

"Bianca's baby was a perfect match," Dante Falcone said. "We used his heart. Our son is fine now."

My knees gave out.

"We didn't have a choice," my mother added.

"She should be grateful," my father said coldly. "After everything we've done for her."

My child had been killed to save theirs.

I stumbled away, choking on the truth, only for Celia to smile at me.

"I don't have cancer," she whispered. "I just wanted everything you have."

I picked up my phone, my voice steady for the first time.

"Grandpa," I said softly. "I will return to take over my inheritance and get married to Luca DeLuca."

The woman who begged for love died with her child.

The woman who walked away is coming back to ruin them.

——

Bianca's POV

"I'm sorry, but your baby didn't make it," the nurse said the moment I opened my eyes. "You lost a lot of blood and were unconscious for three days. We tried everything, but we couldn't save the baby."

My ears rang at her words and I swallowed hard. My throat felt scraped raw.

"My husband," I whispered. "Dante… Did he come?"

The nurse's expression softened. "I'm sorry, ma'am. No one has visited you since you were admitted."

Bitter tears slid down my cheeks as the room blurred.

Three days ago, I had called Dante until my fingers went numb. Ninety-nine missed calls. More than twenty messages.

Please send the jet. I'm in labor.

The bridge collapsed. I can't get through.

I'm bleeding.

The pain had been tearing me apart when I finally called his social club headquarters.

"I'm in labor," I cried. "Where is Dante?"

There was a pause before the assistant answered, his voice careful.

"The Don isn't here right now, ma'am. He's taken the jet to fly his pregnant wife to the hospital because of the collapsed bridge. May I take a message?"

The world went silent.

"Pregnant… wife?" I whispered.

"No," I said hoarsely, shaking my head. "You must be mistaken. I'm his wife. I'm the one in labor."

Another contraction ripped through me. I cried out, clutching my stomach as pain split me open.

"Tell him it's Bianca," I gasped. "Tell him to come now."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, it seems you've got a wrong number," the assistant said.

"No, I'm not wrong. Call my husband... It hurts so much, call Dante!" I cried but there was no response, only the dial tone showing the call had ended.

My grip loosened and the phone slipped from my hand, hitting the floor.

The pain surged violently through my body, my vision darkening as voices shouted around me.

"Dante," I called, my voice breaking.

But he never came and then everything went black.

"Here's your phone," the nurse said softly, pulling me back. "We picked it up when the ambulance arrived."

I took it with shaking hands.

"If you need anything, press the call button," she added before leaving.

The room fell silent. Somewhere down the corridor a door closed, and the sound of men's voices, low and unhurried, faded behind it. The hospital smelled of antiseptic and cold tile, but underneath it I caught something faintly institutional, the kind of place where favors decided which wing you slept in and whose name appeared on the chart.

I unlocked my phone, my heart pounding, half-expecting to see missed calls flooding the screen.

There were none. No messages, no calls.

It didn't make sense.

When Dante and I were newly married, he couldn't go an hour without checking on me. Once, my car battery died and I was unreachable for three hours. He sent soldiers across the entire city looking for me.

Now he ignored me for three days.

I checked my messages again. Still nothing. Not from Dante. Not from my Marchetti. Not even from Celia.

Then a notification appeared.

Celia posted a new update.

I tapped it and a photo of Dante, my Marchetti, and Celia cradling a newborn filled the screen.

She was lying in a hospital bed and I recognized the room as one of the private wards in this hospital, the kind reserved for families who owned the wing.

The caption read: Family.

My fingers went numb as I scrolled.

I saw another post from three days ago, the exact time I was in labor and calling Dante.

Celia was sitting inside a private jet, her head tilted toward Dante as she kissed his cheek.

The bridge collapsed, so he didn't want me stuck in traffic, she'd written.

He flew me here himself. He takes such good care of me.

Comments poured in.

Such a caring husband.

You're so lucky.

So while I was bleeding out in the car, Celia was the "pregnant wife" he had flown to the hospital.

The screen blurred as my grip tightened.

Two years ago, I had pulled Celia out of a mangled car on the shoulder of the coastal highway.

That was how my Marchetti found their daughter who'd been missing for twenty years.

I took her in.

Held her hand when she woke screaming from nightmares. Sat beside her hospital bed when she gave her kidney to save Dante after he was shot during a territory dispute.

When he woke and learned it was Celia who saved him, he was grateful.

But when the doctors said she had cancer, his gratitude turned into devotion with him doing whatever she wanted.

I complained about his devotion and affection toward Celia but Dante always said the same thing.

"I love you, Bianca. Not her."

"I'm just returning the favor."

"She saved my life."

I believed him and stopped overthinking things.

When Celia disappeared for weeks and returned pregnant, she refused to say who the father was.

My Marchetti scolded her and called her careless. They told her to be more like me but I cautioned them and stood up for her.

I took care of her pregnancy and mine. Now she dared to post my husband as hers?

Even though Dante had married me in a quiet ceremony witnessed only by his consigliere and a priest on the Family's payroll, he promised he'd announce our marriage to the world at the next front-facing Family function, which was only days away. So how dare Celia try to pull this?

My hands trembled as I locked my phone and pushed myself out of bed. Pain shot through my legs, but I barely felt it as I made my way to the hallway.

That was when I heard the familiar voices of my Marchetti and Dante in a room at the end of the corridor.

I charged toward the room, anger coursing through me, ready to confront them, but Celia's teary voice stopped me in front of the door.

"I feel so guilty," she whispered. "Bianca's baby… I never wanted it to be like this."

Dante's reply came immediately. "Stop blaming yourself. We didn't have a choice."

My breath caught. What were they talking about?

"Bianca's son was the only heart-compatible donor," he continued. "The doctors confirmed it. If we didn't use his heart, our son wouldn't survive."

My knees nearly buckled as the world went silent around me.

"You… you really took her baby's heart?" Celia asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes," Dante said without hesitation. "He was born healthy. That's why the transplant worked."

I stopped breathing.

"But what about Bianca?" Celia whispered. "When she wakes up…"

My mother answered instead.

"She should be grateful she was given an opportunity to be useful to this family. She owes us a lot after we adopted and raised her for twenty-two years. Saving your child is the least she can do."

My father nodded and added, "Besides, you don't have long. When you're gone, the baby will need someone. Bianca can raise him as her own."

My stomach twisted violently as the room spun.

"You saved my life, Celia. There was no way I'd let our son die. Especially now that you're dying and I can't save you," Dante said firmly.

Celia's fingers tightened around the blanket. She reached out and touched Dante's hand.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For saving our son. For giving me my wish… to have a child with you before I die."

Dante leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"It's worth everything," he said softly. "I'd do anything for you."

The hallway tilted and I stepped backward, my chest burning as the truth finally settled.

It wasn't just Celia. My Marchetti had known all along. They had known who the father of her baby was.

They had watched me stand by her, defend her, take care of her and said nothing.

Dante hadn't just abandoned me in traffic. He had lied to my face every single day.

They hadn't just chosen Celia. They had agreed together as a family to sacrifice my son to save hers.

I stumbled into the bathroom and gripped the sink as my body convulsed, bile burning my throat, tears blinding my eyes. My fingers drifted to the pale mark where my wedding ring used to sit. The hospital must have removed it during surgery. The bare skin felt like a wound that had always been there, just hidden.

The door opened and I heard a familiar voice.

"Dearest sister, I saw you lurking outside my room door. Why didn't you come inside?"

I turned around to see Celia staring at me. Her smile appeared half a heartbeat too early, sharp and gleaming in her eyes.

"You!" I choked out, angry tears rolling down my cheeks.

Celia giggled. "I've waited for this day for so long. Carefully playing my part of a sweet daughter and sister but I longed for the day I would see you in this state looking broken and weak."

"Why, Celia? What did I ever do to you?" I asked, confused.

"You were adopted and enjoyed every bit of luxury I should have enjoyed while I went missing and suffered for twenty years!" Celia snapped.

"How is it my fault that you went missing? Since you returned you've gotten everything back. Why are you now doing this?!" I shot at her, fury burning in my chest.

"Because, dearest sister, you should have never been in this family! If they didn't adopt you then they would have looked for me. But now I'm back I'm going to take everything from you including your precious husband because they should have been mine!"

"You could have taken everything," I sobbed, my knees threatening to give way. "Why didn't you just leave my son for me? Why did you have to touch him?"

Celia laughed like a maniac. "Because I don't want you or your blood to breathe the same air as me. And what better way to get everyone to do my bidding than to play the dying cancer card? But guess what, I don't have cancer and I'm not dying."

Blood drained from my face as I stared at her. "You monster! How could you lie to everyone for years?"

My voice trembled. "I'll tell them. I'll tell everyone."

Celia giggled wickedly. "No one is going to believe you, dear sister. Not after I'm done with you."

And before I could move an inch, she deliberately banged her head on the wall before letting out a scream.

"Dante, help me! She's going to kill me!"

Just as Celia fell dramatically to the ground, the door burst open, and my husband stood in the doorway. Behind him the corridor had gone still, a soldier's hand frozen on his belt, the fluorescent light catching the gold saint medal motionless in Dante's fist.

"What have you done?!" he yelled at me in fury.