Page 7 of Mafia King's Bride

“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” he adds as we walk toward the elevator. “But I’m glad you are. We have some cases that are right up your alley. Of course, take your time easing back in. I’m sure you’ll want to leave early these first few months to enjoy married life.”

Married life. Another bitter laugh sits on the edge of my tongue, but I swallow it down, keeping my voice neutral. “Don’t worry about me. Work comes first.”

He gives me a curious look, no doubt wondering why I’m choosing to immerse myself in work instead of spending time with my husband. But I don’t explain. I don’t owe him—or anyone—an explanation.

The elevator doors open, and I step inside, pressing the button for the tenth floor. “I’ll have Steve bring you an urgent case,” the partner says as the doors begin to close. “Welcome back, Anastasia.”

The elevator ride is silent, and as soon as I reach my floor, I exhale, stepping out into the familiar space of my office. It looks exactly as I left it, everything in its place as if nothing in my life has changed. But it has.

I walk to my desk, running my fingers over the smooth wood before sitting down. This is where I belong—where I’ve always belonged. Not in Dmitri’s mansion. Not playing the role of a dutiful wife. Here, surrounded by folders and paperwork, with nothing but my cases to occupy my mind.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts. Steve walks in, holding a thick folder and a bouquet of roses. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Orlov,” he says, placing the flowers and the folder on my desk and sitting down in front of me. “How does it feel to be married?”

Like my life is over. Like I’m trapped in a cage I can’t escape. Like I’ve lost every part of myself that ever mattered.

I force another smile, my jaw tight with tension. “It’s… amazing,” I lie, the words tasting like ash.

Steve grins, oblivious. “I have to admit, I didn’t believe it when I heard you were getting married. You never mentioned a boyfriend, and now you’re Mrs. Orlov? Wow. And why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?”

I laugh lightly, keeping up the charade. “It was a surprise,” I say, the lie slipping out easily. “We wanted to keep it small.”

He nods, buying it without question, but his eyes linger on me, as if searching for something beneath the surface. “Well, I’m happy for you. But you know, if you ever get tired of the married life, I’m still available.” He winks, and I roll my eyes.

“That ship has sailed, Steve,” I say lightly. “Now tell me about the case.”

He hands me the folder, and I flip it open, skimming the details. Money laundering and fraud. It’s a typical case for me—defending someone whose hands are dirty but not as dirty as the people they stole from. It’s the kind of work I’ve grown numb to.

As I read through the file, I can feel the familiar pull of focus returning. Work is my refuge. It’s the only thing that keeps me from drowning in the reality of my life.

Steve stands to leave, and I nod, already diving into the case.

The door closes behind him, and I exhale a long, deep sigh.

Despite my new name, I don’t feel like Mrs. Orlov here. I’m still Anastasia Petrov. And in this office, I can almost pretend that nothing has changed. But the moment I step outside these walls, I’ll be reminded of the truth: that my life is no longer my own.

My phone beepsas I pull into the garage, breaking the silence. It’s a reminder about the case I’ve been assigned to, but the glowing screen also shows the time. Ten-thirty p.m. I had no idea it was so late, but then again, time has lost all meaning lately. The office is the only place that feels like it hasn’t shifted into something unrecognizable. The only reason I’m here at all is because the bed in this mansion is softer than my chair at work, and that’s hardly a selling point.

I grab my bag and step out of the car, moving toward the front door. When the handle doesn’t budge, I knock, and within seconds, Janet opens the door, still in her apron, her rubber gloves covered in soap suds.

“Welcome, ma’am,” she says politely, her voice calm and predictable.

Does this woman ever sleep?

I nod, feeling an unexpected wave of exhaustion hit me.

“Would you like some dinner?” Janet offers, pausing with the hesitancy of someone who already knows the answer. “There’s still some risotto left. I made it for Mr. Orlov.”

Risotto. The idea of it might have been appealing if it hadn’t come with the added detail of being “for Mr. Orlov.” The very thought of eating what he was meant to enjoy makes my stomach churn.

“No, thank you,” I say, trying to sound polite despite the gnawing hunger making itself known. My stomach growls in protest, a reminder that the only thing I’ve eaten all day is a half-stale sandwich at lunch.

Janet doesn’t press further, and I’m grateful for it. “I’ll go to my room. Goodnight.”

I yank my bag higher on my shoulder and head for the stairs, hoping to make it to my room before?—

Shit.

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