When Fate Turns Dark, Love Becomes a Lie

I was supposed to marry Marco DeLuca, the man of my dreams, in just three days.

He was the mafia don of the South—dangerous, ruthless, the kind of man everyone warned you about. And I came from the Moretti family, just as powerful, a dominant force in the North.

But just when I thought I had it all, fate had other plans.

What was supposed to be a simple drug deal negotiation—one Marco had asked me to cover—quickly spiraled into a gunfight. In the chaos, a bullet tore through my chest.

Marco made sure everyone in that room paid for my accident, but no matter what he did, it didn’t change the fact that I was lying here, wondering if my life would ever be the same.

And it only got worse. In the haze between consciousness and dreams, I overheard Marco speaking with his family doctor.

“After removing the bullet from Miss Moretti’s chest, we found fragments near her heart,” Dr. Levois said. “She may need another surgery.”

“There’s no need for another surgery. As long as she can breathe, I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. But if you treat her now, she’ll wake up and ruin everything I’ve planned.”

Marco’s words hit me hard.

“And I promised Camilla I would bring our daughter, Violetta, into the family,” he continued. “It’s better this way. Gianna won’t be a threat to her then.”

So the wedding I’d longed for, the love I once believed in, was nothing but a cruel illusion. What Marco wanted, what I thought was mine, had twisted into my worst nightmare.

If this was what Marco truly wanted… so be it.

It wasn’t like I cared anymore.

1

Gianna pov

I’m dying, yet my husband just signed the waiver, choosing to give up the surgery that could save my life.

“Enough. Stick to my plan—no more surgeries on Gianna’s heart. Do your job and just keep her breath,” Marco's voice rang cold and commanding.

Dr. Levois hesitated, “Mr. DeLuca, the damage to Miss Moretti’s heart will be irreversible. I beg you to reconsider.”

“Are you working for me, or for Gianna?” Marco snapped.

“Forgive me, Mr. DeLuca.” Dr. Levois quickly apologized, “I’m just concerned about Miss Moretti’s family finding out about this later.”

Marco picked up a wet tissue and gently wiped my dry lips.

“Then don’t let her or her family find out. I’ll keep Gianna in my mansion, let her family think she's under my care—nothing will go wrong.”

His finger gently tapped my forehead, “Just rest easy, Gianna. I’ll take care of everything for you.”

I’d heard the whispers, the rumors about his cold, calculating nature, but I always laughed them off. To me, he had only been kind and gentle.

Never did I imagine he would turn those capabilities against me.

“And now, Gianna, you won’t mind if I bring Camilla to our wedding, will you?” he said, his tone almost casual. “I thought she could take your place.”

You’re giving up on me just to get me out of your way? Bringing your mistress to take my spot at our wedding?

Well, Marco, your heartless plan just keeps surprising me.

“Mr. DeLuca… wasn’t Miss Camilla Santoro already married?” Dr. Levois stammered.

“So?” Marco’s voice dropped.

“So this is over for Miss Moretti then?” Dr. Levois murmured. “You practically grew up with her. Are you going to give up on her?”

Yes, that’s right. Marco, are you really going to give up on me? Haven’t we grown up together? Didn’t you promise me you’d make me the happiest bride?

Suddenly, I heard the chilling click of a gun being loaded, and Marco’s voice shattered the silence.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up?”

Dr. Levois’s voice trembled. “I’m sorry, Mr. DeLuca. I’ve overstepped.”

“Good.” Marco’s tone softened, “Now leave us.”

The man I had trusted with my heart, the one I thought I knew, had just made the decision to abandon the surgery that could have brought me back to life.

If only I could say through his persona earlier.

Marco made another phone call, his voice cold and detached. "Did you contact him? Yes, the one I sent to Gianna's negotiation meeting…He did his job—shot her right in the chest… Yes. Like we discussed, take care of him, make sure there's no evidence, and give his wife two million... The sooner, the better.”

So, the man who shot me was also part of Marco's plan?

From the moment he had casually mentioned the drug deal negotiation and said he was too busy to attend, expecting me to step in, his plan to get me out of his way started.

I couldn’t believe the depths of his scheme.

Then, I felt the soft press of a warm, damp towel against my face. Marco gently wiped my skin, then my arm, like a tender boyfriend.

The anger and shock began to fade, replaced by a sharp, bitter sense of absurdity.

As the daughter of mafias, I should have known better, or at least not been so damn naive.

I had seen enough of men to recognize the pattern. And now, I felt foolish for ever thinking Marco was different, that he was meant for me.

He was nothing but a lesson to be learnt. And overhearing what a true asshole he was felt like an unexpected reward.

Now, all that mattered for me was finding a way to escape.

My heart was suddenly racing, beating quicker than usual. As the monitor's beeping grew faster, Dr. Levois rushed in once more, calling out to Marco.

"Mr. DeLuca, Miss Moretti is in heart failure. We need to perform the second surgery immediately.”

Marco’s hands froze. "Do we have to?”

"Yes! If we don’t do it now, Miss Moretti will die.”

I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness again.

"Fine. Take her to the operating room.”

The nurse came and injected me with anesthesia.

The last thing I remembered was Marco’s disgusting lips on my forehead, his voice a low whisper in my ear, ”Babe, this will all be over soon.”

Damn right, this will be over soon, Marco.

2

Gianna pov

When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my room. And the wound on my chest, showing everything that I had gone through, sobbing with a numbing pain.

Marco was sitting beside my bed, looking all "husbandy." As soon as I stirred, he jumped up, grasping my hands in his, “Gianna, babe, how are you feeling?”

I shuddered slightly, my voice barely above a whisper, “Looks like you haven’t slept all night. Go get some rest, Marco. I’m fine.”

I slipped into my usual role—acting like the caring girlfriend.

Marco smiled, kissed me on the cheek, then headed to the sofa to sleep.

He forgot his phone on the nightstand. Quietly, I reached for it, unlocked it with his usual password.

I scrolled through his contacts and clicked on Camilla’s name. Thousands of messages appeared on the screen.

Most of the messages were about their daughter, Violetta.

“Violetta called you again. She said ‘papa.’”

“Violetta ate the entire cake you bought for her.”

“Violetta said she wanted to go to the amusement park today. Come join us if you can, okay?”

Between the lines, I could feel how much Marco cared about Violetta and Camilla.

Ironically, Marco once told me he didn’t like kids. He found them annoying and noisy. I had realized now—the children he didn’t like were mine. He had no trouble loving Camilla’s.

As I scrolled through Marco’s phone, I stumbled upon a hidden photo album.

Almost five thousand photos of Violetta, dating back to her birth, all the way to recent times. Marco had been there every step of the way. Every holiday he claimed he was “too busy” was a holiday he spent with his secret daughter.

He had been the perfect dad to her.

Then a sudden text popped up with the words “wedding planner.” I clicked it, and the entire chat history between Marco and the planner unfolded.

It looked like from the moment Marco began planning this wedding, he’d been telling the planner about Camilla. The wedding gown was even designed around her size.

The invitations? In their handwriting.

I thought I’d be devastated all over again, but surprisingly, I felt calm—relieved, even. I’m glad I learned the truth before I actually married him. Now, I still have the chance to walk away, to leave this piece of shit behind.

I closed Marco’s phone and placed it back where I found it.

Then I took out my phone and texted my best friend, Vivienne, who had moved to London a few years ago, asking her to find a reputable hospital for heart surgery there.

I promised I’d join her in just a few days.

Meanwhile, I would use my remaining time in the States to close all my accounts and transfer my assets overseas—making sure to erase any last bit trace of my existence. That way, after I left for London, Marco wouldn’t be able to track me down.

Vivienne was actually excited to hear from me. She’d never liked Marco.

Once I finished everything, the exhaustion from surgery hit me again, and I drifted off to sleep.

Marco’s argument with the doctor woke me up. As soon as I opened my eyes, he was there, holding a piece of paper.

“Dr. Levois says the surgery didn’t remove all the bullet fragments from your heart,” he looked as if he cared. “Your heart is fragile now. And having kids is out of the question.”

I nodded quietly.

“But don’t worry,” he added, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Babe, I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.”

Ugh. How did I not see through him before? Take care of me? More like destroy me.

He continued, “We can always adopt. Actually, a friend of mine left behind a child when she passed. The kid’s with her grandparents right now. How about we adopt her?”

There it was—the mention of Violetta and the adoption.

Marco studied me, playing his part. “Oh right, I forgot about our wedding. It’s all arranged, but you’re still recovering… What do you think we should do?”

“Find someone to take my place,” I replied.

The wedding was the last thing on my mind.

My thoughts were fixated on how to find an excuse to get out of here. The hospital was crawling with Marco’s men—there was nothing I could do in this place.

He looked surprised at my sudden change of attitude, but as long as he got what he wanted, I knew he wouldn’t question me.

My phone buzzed with a new text, and Marco glanced at it.

“Gianna, what accounts have you closed?”

I quickly dismissed the message and shrugged. “Too much gossip about our wedding. I figured closing a few social and bank accounts might help it all die down.”

Marco didn’t think much of it. He tightened his grip around me, his tone unusually concerned. “Just focus on recovering, okay? I can take care of those trivial tasks.”

“Marco, will you give me everything I want?” I looked at him, playing the part of the vulnerable fiancee.

Before Marco noticed that text wasn’t the last one I will be getting.

“Of course. Everything for my babe.” Marco smiled.

“I want to leave the hospital.”

His expression shifted. “You’re still recovering.”

I sat up and wrapped my arms around him. “Dr. Levois can always come to the mansion, right? And about that girl…After you mentioned her, I cannot wait to meet her. How about you bring her to your mansion?”

Marco seemed to believe my words. He softened, nodding. Then, he quickly arranged for me to be discharged and wheeled me to his car.

3

Gianna pov

We arrived at Marco’s mansion soon after.

"Dad!" The girl from Marco’s secret photo album rushed forward, calling him. She looked up at Marco while he was clearly shocked.

He turned to me, his face filled with guilt. "I used to help take care of her after her parents were gone.”

I nodded, offering a reassuring smile, "She looks just like you. For a moment, I almost thought she was your daughter.”

"What’s her name?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

“Violetta.”

Just as Marco turned and started wheeling me away, Violetta began to cry, calling out for him. Marco’s face turned pale, his brows knitting in concern.

"I’m fine," I said softly. "She’s probably just nervous from seeing me for the first time.”

My words seemed to ease his anxiety. He scooped Violetta into his arms and hurried inside, while I wheeled myself slowly behind.

As I entered Marco’s mansion, a maid hurried toward me, "Miss Moretti, may I escort you to the living room? Mr. DeLuca is in his study right now.”

I smiled politely, shaking my head. "Thanks, but I can manage on my own.”

The least I need was another spy sent from Marco.

As I passed a room, I overheard a conversation between a couple of maids.

"Why did Mr. DeLuca say his daughter was an orphan?”

“I heard that Mr. DeLuca planned it that way. It was the only way to bring Violetta into the DeLuca family without people calling her a bastard child.”

“So he mad Miss Moretti adopt his child with another woman so the daughter can be legitimate?”

"Exactly. So don’t let Miss Moretti suspect anything.”

"Ugh... I told you, our real lady of the house is Miss Santoro. Mr. DeLuca was so in love with her. Can’t you see the lovey-dovey bubble when they’re together? I bet they’re kissing right now in his study.”

A "lovey-dovey bubble," huh?

I turned toward Marco’s study, a sense of curiosity gnawing at me. If Marco had faked his persona the entire time he was with me, what was he like in front of Camilla?

The door was slightly ajar, and Marco’s voice drifted through the crack.

"Did he treat you well?”

"He’s... alright. He never comes home, but I suppose that’s a good thing. Means he won’t find out about us and Violetta.”

"You know, Marco," Camilla’s voice continued, "he even asked me to give him a child. Can you believe that?”

"Don’t talk like that, Camilla," Marco’s voice sounded strained.

Camilla was married, and Marco—what was he doing? Playing the role of the third wheel in someone else’s marriage, while making her the third wheel in ours?

Where had the arrogant, domineering Marco gone?

“Once I get Violetta back, you won’t have to worry about any of this,” Marco murmured, his voice low but unmistakable. “I’ll handle everything for you two.”

“You’re the best, Marco.”

Then came the sound of rustling fabric. "Take it. A small gift.”

"Ouch, another Cartier bracelet! You really are spoiling me, Mr. DeLuca. If Gianna finds out, she’ll throw a fit.”

So, I’m supposed to throw a fit? Well, maybe I will. But it won’t be for the reasons you think. The man you adore so much, the one you went all the way to replace his bride, the one you’re willing to share with me—Camilla, I don’t want him anymore.

You can have him all to yourself.

As I turned my wheelchair around, I bumped into a maid coming my way. She was carrying a tray with two steaming cups of tea.

“Miss Moretti, are you here to see Mr. DeLuca?”

The door had opened, and the moment it did, Marco’s eyes locked onto mine. His face drained of color, panic flashing across his features.

“Gianna, what are you doing here?”

“I was just on my way to get you. Look who’s here—Camilla. Turns out she knew my friends, too. She’s been helping take care of Violetta, and she was the one to bring Violetta here today. Quite the coincidence, huh?”

Camilla stood up, cradling Violetta in her arms, and flashed me a smile. “Long time no see, Gianna.”

I returned the smile, keeping my voice steady.“Hey, Camilla. It’s been a while. Still busy catching up with someone else’s husband, I see?”

Her eyes immediately flashed with fury.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Violetta clung to Camilla, burying her face in her neck.

“Relax, you two, I’m just joking.” I glanced toward Marco, smiled. “I’ll be downstairs. You go ahead and catch up with Camilla.”

As I headed toward the stairs, Marco rushed to catch up. “Gianna, don’t overthink this, okay? Violetta’s very close to her—that’s why she calls her ‘Mommy.’ You won’t misunderstand a child’s innocent words, will you?”

The way Marco tried to defend Camilla, twisting this into me overreacting, made me almost chuckle out loud.

How shameless he could be. He had torn my heart apart just so he could bring his mistress and their bastard child into our lives. And now, he was acting like the innocent one?

I wanted to tell him I knew everything—that I wasn’t about to play along with this charade any longer. But I bit my tongue. It would be pointless to spill it all now. It would only give him the chance to throw more of his nonsense my way. And frankly, I’d had enough.

So, I adjusted my smile—perfect as ever—and said, “Relax, Marco. I’m not overthinking anything. I know you love me. Go take care of Violetta and Camilla. I’ll be just fine.”

Marco seemed relieved, as if my words had put him at ease. He wheeled me back downstairs and headed off to his study.

Sitting on the sofa, I noticed the maids passing by, their eyes full of pity. But honestly, I couldn’t care less. My focus was on my phone, deleting every account I owned and negotiating the sale of properties under my name.

4

Gianna pov

To welcome Violetta, the DeLucas threw a party that night. It was more of a small gathering than the grand affair I’d expected. Marco’s parents were there, probably keeping an eye on their granddaughter, and Camilla was invited too. Marco had casually explained the reason why she’d be attending, but it was clear he wanted her there for more than just Violetta’s sake.

Honestly, I didn’t care about all the fake act that they had been busy showing me.

So I pretended to be sick to avoid attending, saving my stregth so that I could get myself out of here. As I tried to rest, but the noise from downstairs just kept seeping through the walls. It was too loud to ignore.

Eventually, I wheeled myself toward the stairs, trying to catch a glimpse of what is happening downstairs that could be so loud.

Marco was cutting a cake for Violetta, while Camilla rested her head on his shoulder, teasing, “Look at how cute she is.”

A picture-perfect family.

Too bad the man was my fiancé, the woman was married to someone else, and that little girl... well, she was their bastard.

Marco’s smile was pure joy as he patted the crown on Violetta’s head, murmuring, “She’s perfect, a true DeLuca princess.”

Perfect. Right.

I retreated to the room, slipping off the bracelet Marco had given me on our first anniversary, then snapped it in half.

It wasn’t like I was holding onto his love by wearing it, but back then, I guess I had hoped there was some sincerity in it. I could accept that he didn’t love me anymore, but what we’d shared—I thought that could be real, even if just a little bit of it.

But maybe I was just fooling myself.

I calmly tossed the broken bracelet into the trash and prepared for bed.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Camilla entered, flawless as always—her makeup perfect, her tailored dress hugging her body just right.

She strode across the room like she owned the place, knocking my wheelchair over with a casual swipe. My arms scraped the floor, pain shooting up my body. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snapped.

“Oops, sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with faux innocence. “Guess I used a little too much strength.”

She ran a finger through her hair, then smiled that smug smile I hated so much. “Gianna, how are you? Still stuck in that chair, heart broken, suffering for the rest of your life? How’s it feel, really?”

“I’m fine, bitch,” I said, pushing myself up, not about to stay on the damn floor any longer.

Camilla’s smirk widened. “You’re such a coward. You knew everything, didn’t you? Yet you stayed quiet. Why? Too weak? But look at us now, Gianna. Who’s winning? Your name’s getting erased from the wedding, replaced by mine. Your husband brought our daughter back here to live with you, and you can do jack shit about it.”

I let out a dry chuckle. “Maybe you’re winning now, but who knows who’ll be laughing in the end. The game’s not over, Camilla.”

She raised an eyebrow, her smirk turning into something more sinister. “Funny you should say that,” she said, “Watch this,” She stepped back and suddenly collapsed onto the floor. Marco appeared out of nowhere, catching her just in time.

He shot me a cold, accusing look. "Gianna, did you push her?"

“Camilla's just being kind," he snapped. "If you’ve got an issue, take it up with me. Why are you trying to hurt her?"

Behind him, his parents and Violetta rushed into the room, alarmed by Camilla’s fall.

Violetta burst into tears. "Bad lady! Bad lady! I don’t want her to be my mommy! I want my mommy back!”

"Mommy! Mommy, I want mommy!" she cried.

Marco helped Camilla to her feet, and she clung to him like she couldn’t stand on her own.

“I think I twisted my ankle, Marco,” she whispered, pretending to be weak. “But don’t blame Gianna, okay? She didn’t mean to. I might have mentioned the wedding to her. Since I’m replacing her, I thought she deserved to know…”

Marco snapped, his tone sharp. “Don’t worry about telling her. It’s not like she would’ve come to the damn wedding anyway.”

I’d once loved Marco. That was why I’d been too kind to him. But I wasn’t one to suffer quietly—not then, and definitely not now.

“Marco,” I said, keeping my voice steady despite the storm inside. “The wedding. The gunfight. Violetta. Do you think you owe me at least an explanation?”

Marco turned, his eyes locking onto mine. I didn’t flinch as his gaze hardened.

“What explanation?” He raised his voice. “Gianna, you got yourself caught up in a damn gunfight over a simple negotiation. No one owes you an explanation—except yourself. Last I checked, the Moretti family was better at handling negotiations than this.”

“And the wedding?” He pressed, “The doctor said your heart is too fragile right now. You can’t handle loud noises or too much activity, Camilla was doing you a favor by taking your place. What the hell did she do wrong?”

I smiled,“Why was my heart so fragile, Marco? Tell me—what happened to it exactly?”

He spat, fury burning in his eyes. “Don’t be so damn ungrateful. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead by now.”

5

Gianna pov

“So, if you ask me now, I think you owe me an explanation—and an apology.”

Marco’s parents quickly jumped in too, "Why can’t you just let my son have a moment of peace?" his mother scolded, her tone sharp. "Why do you always have to cause a scene? Can you be more like Camilla?”

"Acting like a grown up," his father snapped. "Moretti raised you better than this. I’m truly disappointed in you, Gianna.”

"Let’s get Camilla to the hospital," he added, his voice tight with frustration. "I hope her ankle’s not too bad."

Without another word, Marco scooped Violetta into one arm and let Camilla lean into the other.

Then, they were gone. Just like that, I was left alone in Marco’s mansion.

I quickly pulled out my phone and dialed a number, “Finally free. When does the last ferry leave for London? The 14th? Perfect. Book me a seat. One-way, please.”

The 14th... it used to be my wedding day. Now, it would mark my departure for a new life in London.

Just a little longer, Gianna. It will all be over soon.

…

After they left, I quickly gathered my things at Marco’s mansion and headed to the hotel.

That night, Marco texted me. His tone had returned to its usual soft, almost sweet self: "Gianna, Camilla was just here to help you. Don't get me wrong, you really shouldn't have pushed her like that. I still think you owe her an apology. And I know you're probably mad at me because of what my parents said. They meant no harm. Love you."

I glanced at the message and immediately deleted it. "Go fuck yourself, Marco."

The next two days flew by as I focused on finalizing the last bits of property I hadn’t sold. I heard nothing from Marco except for that fake-ass message he'd sent. I assumed he was too wrapped up in Camilla and wedding preparations to care.

...

The 14th finally arrived. Before the ferry left, I called Marco one last time. He barely acknowledged me, too engrossed in a business conversation with his assistant, as usual.

"Mr. DeLuca, are you sure about transferring the Oak Street property to Miss Santoro? It’s risky doing it now."

"Do as I say. That mansion was meant for her as a wedding gift."

“And make sure you handle the wedding guests. Don’t let just anyone in. I’m worried someone might stir up trouble today.”

It took a while before Marco seemed to remember I was still on the line. “Sorry, babe, I've been busy. So much going on with the wedding and the casinos. But don't worry, it’s about to start. I’ll be back as soon as it’s over.”

"Don't worry. I wasn’t busy anyway." I took one last look at New York before saying, “Marco, happy wedding day.”

There was a brief pause before his voice lightened. “Silly, it’s our happy wedding day! Wait for me at home, okay?”

I hung up, turned, and wheeled myself back inside.

By then, all my accounts in the States had been closed. Every last property was sold. Marco couldn't find a single thing with my name on it or any trace of me. It was as if I’d never existed.

I sat down, pulled out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and handed it to the ferry crew, asking them to toss it into the ocean.

Finally. I was here. Ready for my new life.