Page 12 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

What if you just heard him out? Get details? You don’t have to say yes.

I type back:Are you serious?

Dead serious. You need $ and he has it. Just TALK to him. Bring me as backup if you want.

I shake my head, even though she can’t see me.No way. It’s sketchy AF.

Sketchier than dropping out of med school with no degree?

Her words hit hard because they’re true. What options do I really have left? I put away my phone without answering and continue walking, my thoughts a tangled mess. By the time I reach our apartment building, I’ve cycled through anger, desperation, and resignation a dozen times.

The truth is, I don’t want to consider Damir’s offer. Every instinct tells me to run in the opposite direction, but what choice do I have? My deadline is tomorrow. My options are gone.

As I climb the stairs to our third-floor walk-up, I make a decision. I’ll hear him out. Just a conversation to get the details to understand what he’s really asking for. I don’t have to agree to anything.

I just need to figure out how to contact him after deciding if it’s really come down to this. Am I this desperate? A sinking sensation in my stomach confirms I am.

4

Damir

The godawful antiseptic smell of the hospital room hits me as I push open the door to Anton’s private suite. My second-in-command looks better today—still pale, but the gray undertone to his skin has faded. The doctors say he’s lucky. The bullet missed his vital organs by centimeters.

Lucky isn’t the word I’d use. Nikolai meant to kill him. That he failed is a testament to Anton’s reflexes, not luck.

Anton sits propped against pillows, his left arm secured in a sling. His gray eyes track me as I cross the room, assessing my mood with the same precision he uses to gather intelligence. Nothing escapes his notice—it’s what makes him invaluable.

“You look like shit,” he says, his voice stronger than yesterday.

I drop into the chair beside his bed. “You’re one to talk.”

A ghost of a smile crosses his face. He adjusts his sling, wincing slightly. “I’ll be out by tomorrow.”

“I’ll make sure you have at-home care until you’re fully recovered.”

Anton sighs but doesn’t argue. We both know Nikolai isn’t finished. The bullet that put Anton in this bed was just the opening move in whatever game our former brother is playing.

“Elena’s been taking good care of me,” says Anton, watching my reaction carefully. “She’s going to be an excellent doctor.”

I keep my expression neutral. “She seems competent.”

“She’s more than competent. She’s brilliant.” Anton shifts against his pillows. “What’s your interest in her, Damir?”

“Professional curiosity.”

“Bullshit.”

I stand, smoothing my suit jacket. “Rest. I’ll have someone pick you up tomorrow.”

Anton watches me, his expression unreadable. “Be careful with her. She’s not like us.” He’s said it before but clearly feels strongly about this and protective about the doctor.

“No one is like us.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I do know it. Elena Clarke is untouched by the darkness that defines my world. She’s worked hard for everything she has, and now, she’s about to lose it all because some worthless boyfriend stole from her.

“Damir, don’t drag her into this mess,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a rare note of concern. The muscles in his jaw work beneath his skin as he watches me.

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