Page 45 of Married to the Mafia Devil

I keep silent, bracing myself for what might come next.

“If you can’t share your secrets with me, if I’m always going to be on the outside of your real world, then I can’t stay,” she declares, her voice firmer than I've heard before. It’s clear she's come to a decision.

I feel a tightness in my chest, a mix of fear and anger. “So, that’s it? You’re just going to walk away from everything we have because I can’t tell you every detail of my business?” My voice rises, a defensive edge creeping in.

“It’s not about knowing every detail. It’s about trust, about truly sharing a life together, not just living in the same space,” she counters, her frustration evident. “I need more than what you’re apparently willing to give.”

I struggle to process her words, to find a way to bridge this chasm that has opened up between us. “I want you here, with me. But I operate the way I do for a reason,” I say slowly, trying to keep my voice even.

“And I understand that, I do. But I need to feel like a partner, not a bystander. I can’t stay under these terms,” she insists, her expression pained but determined.

The finality in her tone stings, and it pushes me to a decision I never thought I'd face. “If that’s your decision so be it,” I say quietly, my voice hollow. “The money will be in your account by the time you get to your apartment. You’re free to go.”

Her eyes widen slightly, hurt flashing across her features. “You don’t even seem bothered,” she accuses, her voice a whisper.

“Emotions won’t change your decision. Respecting it should be enough,” I respond coolly, even though inside, my heart feels like it's being squeezed in a vise.

She stands, her body language one of resignation. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

Watching her walk away, I feel a part of me wants to call her back, to say everything she wants to hear. But another part, the part that’s ruled by logic and self-preservation, holds me back. I won’t give up control to beg. It’s not who I am. She pauses at the door, giving me a look that’s both sorrowful and resigned, then she leaves.

Once the door closes behind her, the silence returns, now more profound and more piercing. I sink back against the sofa, my mind reeling.

Was letting her go the right decision? Should I have compromised? The questions torment me, but deep down, I know I’ve made the right decision. This way I can focus on the deal and Petrovitch, everything that mattered most before she came along. He’s not cracked the file. The deal is going my way. There are hints that he’s wondering where Vlad’s gone but soon it’ll be too late for him to do anything about it.

I reach for my phone almost instinctively and dial Alex, needing to hear a voice that might understand, might offer some semblance of reassurance.

He picks up after a couple of rings. “Hey, what's up?”

“It’s done,” I say simply, the words tasting bitter.

“You got the stuff?”

“I mean she's gone.”

There’s a pause on the line, then Alex responds, “Maybe it’s for the best. You need to focus right now, especially with everything that's at stake. You’ve got a lot riding on this next deal. A billion dollars, man. That’s not small change. You need to be at a hundred percent. I blocked out the park lot for you. Ready to go as soon as the deal’s signed.”

I nod to myself, a grim acknowledgment of his words. It’s going to cost a lot to build a park for a woman who just left me.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Alex’s voice is all business, a shift back to familiar territory.

“It’s time to end this once and for all,” I state, feeling a familiar surge of determination. “It’s going to require everything I’ve got to pull this off.”

“You got this. And hey, relationships, they’re tricky. Look at my parents — married and miserable. Who needs that, right?” Alex tries to lighten the mood, though the laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

I manage a half-smile, though it feels hollow. “Right. Marriage, happiness... maybe it’s not in the cards for everyone.”

“Focus on what you can control, what you’re good at. Money, power, business. Women come and go, but that billion? That’s a once-in-a-lifetime shot.”

NINETEEN

Emma

Two weeks later…

We sit at a small, warmly lit table in the corner of our favorite local restaurant, the familiar ambiance a soothing backdrop to our dinner. The hum of conversation and laughter around us feels worlds away from the tumultuous weeks I've endured. Amelia and Pamela, ever my pillars, share light-hearted stories, trying to lift the heaviness that's settled over me since my breakup.

Pamela leans forward, her eyes keen. “So, how are you really doing, Em? It's been weeks since the breakup and you just keep saying you’re fine.”

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