Page 118 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“It served its purpose,” she says, echoing my earlier thought.

“It did. The feds are gone, and the case is dropped.”

Her eyes widen. “Really? It’s over?”

I nod. “Anton confirmed it tonight. We’re free.”

“Free,” she repeats, testing the word. “So this is what? A celebration?”

“This is me telling you I want more than our arrangement.” I cup her face in my hands. “I want you to be my wife. For real. No expiration date.”

“Even though the danger is gone? Even though you don’t need me anymore?”

“I will always need you,” I say firmly. “You and our son.”

Her eyes fill with tears. “Damir…”

“I love you,” I say, the words still unfamiliar on my tongue. “I never thought I would say that to anyone. I never thought I was capable of it. Then you came along with your stubborn determination and your refusal to be intimidated, and you changed everything.”

She laughs through her tears. “I love you too, you impossible man.”

I kiss her then, tasting champagne and chocolate on her lips. When we break apart, she’s smiling.

“So, Mrs. Antonova,” I say, leading her back to her seat. “What do you say? Will you marry me again? This time for real?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “I will.”

We finish our dessert, and she examines her ring several times in the candlelight. The diamond catches the light, sending prisms dancing across the table. “When did you know?” she asks suddenly.

“Know what?”

“That you loved me.”

I consider the question. “The day you told me about the baby. You were so afraid I would be angry, that I would see it as a complication.”

“And instead, you were happy.”

“I was terrified, but yes, happy. That’s when I knew I couldn’t let you go when our six months were up.”

She smiles, reaching across the table to take my hand. “I knew the night you cooked for me when you told me about Irina. I just wasn’t ready to admit it to myself or you yet.”

I remember that night, sharing stories of my childhood and the housekeeper who showed me kindness in a world of cruelty. It was the first time I’d opened up to anyone about my past.

“You trusted me with your story. That’s when I knew this was more than an arrangement for both of us.”

The waiter approaches. “Will there be anything else, Mr. Antonov?”

“No,” I say, my gaze never leaving Elena’s face. “We have everything we need.”

When we finish our meal, I help Elena into her coat. The night air is cool against my skin as we step outside. Viktor waits at the curb, opening the door when we approach.

“Home?” I ask.

She looks up at me. “Home.”

In the car, she leans against me, her head on my shoulder. “I have a confession,” she says softly.

“What’s that?”

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