Revenge of the Don's Replacement Bride

I thought I had finally married for love, that I had become the most cherished woman of a Mafia godfather.

Until I discovered the real reason he chose me in the first place.

For three years, Marcello Giovanni treated me as the most precious woman in the world.

Until the day I stumbled upon a hidden room, filled with hundreds of photographs—and every single woman in those photos looked exactly like me.

Then, I heard his underboss whisper:

"Boss said her eyes look just like Miss Camilla's."

I thought that even without real love, I could still keep living.

But I was wrong.

The moment Camilla came back from the dead, Marcello chose her without a single moment's hesitation.

And I was forced to jump into the ocean...

——

Siena's POV

Never in my life did I imagine becoming a godfather's wife.

I had always lived in the underground fight clubs of the slums. To survive, I had no choice but to latch onto those beefy gamblers.

The second time, I thought it was love that saved me.

Marcello Giovanni—the most feared Mafia godfather in New York's underworld.

He spoiled me beyond measure.

Just half an hour ago, he had personally executed a family traitor down in the basement.

When he came upstairs, he still carried the faint scent of blood and gunpowder.

Yet, with those same hands accustomed to gripping a Beretta, he gently brushed aside my blonde hair.

He carefully fastened a priceless "Heart of the Ocean" sapphire necklace around my neck.

"Siena, my angel."

He kissed my earlobe, his voice deep and raspy.

"Every woman in New York will envy you."

I looked at myself in the mirror, my ocean-blue eyes reflecting his deeply affectionate gaze.

I still remembered that night three years ago in that filthy underground arena. When a red-eyed, sore-loser gambler raised a machete to hack at me, it was Marcello who rushed in.

To save me, he took a bullet to his left shoulder without even blinking.

He just shielded me fiercely in his embrace, guarding me with his life as if I were a rare, priceless treasure.

I thought I was truly the only weakness of this bloodthirsty tyrant.

Until that afternoon. Marcello had gone to the Brooklyn docks for a major arms deal.

While cleaning his study, I accidentally knocked over an antique globe on the bookshelf.

Suddenly, the bookshelf slowly slid open, revealing a deeply hidden secret room.

I froze.

Having lived in the Giovanni Estate for three years, I never knew such a space existed.

Driven by a sliver of curiosity, I stepped into the dimly lit room.

The moment the motion-sensor lights flickered on, the blood in my veins turned to ice.

There was an entire wall of photographs. Hundreds of them, densely packed together.

The woman in the photos had the exact same blonde hair as me.

The exact same ocean-blue eyes.

Even the slight upward curve of her lips when she smiled was identical to mine.

With trembling hands, I took down one of the yellowing photos.

On the back, written in Marcello's bold, forceful handwriting, it read:

"To my eternal love, Camilla — Winter 2018."

Camilla.

The name was so familiar.

It hit me—the night we first met three years ago. When Marcello held me tightly in that pool of blood, the very first word he whispered into my ear with trembling lips was: "Camilla..."

At the time, I thought it was just a case of mistaken identity. Later on, he would constantly murmur that name in his sleep.

I had once curiously asked the estate's old butler about it. But he sternly warned me that this taboo name must never be spoken within these walls.

The old butler revealed to me that Camilla was the previous godfather's daughter—and Marcello's childhood sweetheart and first love.

Three years ago, she died in a brutal mob shootout and explosion targeting the Giovanni family, leaving no remains behind.

My gaze slowly drifted downward, landing on a glass display case in the center of the room.

Inside lay a sapphire necklace.

Exactly identical to the one Marcello had clasped around my neck this morning.

Simply because it was Camilla's favorite design when she was alive.

My stomach churned violently. A visceral wave of nausea made me double over. I clamped my hand hard over my mouth, my tears smashing uncontrollably onto the floor.

These sculpted features, these expressions, these habits.

They were never me.

I was just a template used to trace a ghost from his past.

Right then, footsteps echoed from outside the door.

It was Marcello's underboss, Luca.

He seemed to be on the phone in the hallway, his voice drifting clearly through the crack in the door.

"Yeah, the Boss is the same as ever. That replica necklace was already delivered."

"Relax, that stupid woman Siena doesn't know a thing."

"She's just a fake. The Boss only looks at her to ease his longing for Miss Camilla."

"Once Miss Camilla's death anniversary passes next month, the Boss will probably get sick of this body double."

Every single word was like a rusted blade, plunging ruthlessly into my heart and twisting with brute force.

I bit down on my lip so hard until I tasted the heavy metallic tang of blood.

I thought I was the princess cherished in the dragon's lair.

Turns out, I was nothing but a cheap knock-off.