Page 1 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

1

Elena

Ipush through the revolving doors of University Hospital, phone pressed to my ear while trying not to drop the stack of papers clutched in my other hand.

“He drained everything, Liv. Every cent. My tuition’s due, and I have nothing.”

The fluorescent lights overhead seem harsher today, highlighting every tired face that passes me in the lobby. Medical students with dark circles under their eyes. Nurses rushing between shifts. Doctors striding with purpose. Everyone has somewhere to be, something important to do. Meanwhile, I’m standing here with my life in shambles.

“Casey’s a thief, but we’ll figure this out,” says Liv through the phone, her voice steady despite the rage I hear simmering beneath her words.

I exhale slowly, gripping the final notice letter tighter. The paper crinkles under my fingers and is a physical reminder of how quickly everything can fall apart.

“I trusted him, Liv. I actually believed him when he said he was just moving money around to get better interest rates.” My voice cracks on the last word. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You’re someone who trusted a person you loved. That doesn’t make you stupid. It makes him a monster.”

I weave through the morning crowd toward the hospital café. The line stretches nearly to the door, filled with staff grabbing caffeine before their shifts. Perfect. More time to dwell on my catastrophe.

“The bank says there’s nothing they can do since I authorized the joint account, and Casey’s phone is disconnected. He’s just... gone.”

“Have you tried his parents?”

“They claim they haven’t heard from him though his mom sounded weird on the phone. I think she knows something.”

The line inches forward. I pull out the final notice letter again, scanning the bold red text as if the numbers might magically change.

PAYMENT DUE: $18,750. FINAL NOTICE BEFORE TERMINATION OF ENROLLMENT.

“What about a loan?” Liv asks.

“With what collateral? Casey maxed out our credit cards too. My credit score is in the toilet.”

“What about Dr. Patel? You’re her favorite student. Maybe she could?—”

“No.” I cut her off. “I’m not asking for charity.”

“It’s not charity if you’ve earned it. You’re six months from graduating at the top of your class.”

The line moves again. I’m two people away from the counter when I notice a scent behind me—vanilla, musk, and cedar. Smooth and expensive. Nothing like the antiseptic hospital smell I’ve grown accustomed to. Nothing like Casey’s drugstore cologne.

“I’ll figure out something,” I tell Liv, though I have no idea what. “I’ve got to go. My shift starts soon.”

“Call me later, Elena. We’re going to fix this.”

I hang up and order my coffee as I prefer it, which is black, no sugar. My one luxury these days, and even that feels extravagant now. The barista slides my cup across the counter. I grab it, turn, and crash directly into solid muscle. Hot coffee sloshes over the rim, splashing across my scrubs and the pristine white shirt in front of me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t?—”

A hand grips my wrist, firm and unyielding. The coffee cup stabilizes in my grip before it can spill further.

When I look up, everything goes totally still.

Tall. Dark. Power carved into every inch of him. His suit surely costs more than my monthly rent—before Casey cleaned me out. His face is entirely sharp angles and cold calculation, like he’s assessing a precarious situation rather than experiencing an awkward coffee collision.

His sharp gaze drops to my badge. “Elena.”

My pulse skitters at the way he says my name, like he’s tasting it, like he already knows me. I’ve never seen this man before. I would remember.

“You looked like you had something to say. An apology?” His voice is deep, with an accent I can’t place. Something European, maybe Italian? No, but I’m not sure what.

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