Page 125 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“Sleep well, little prince,” says Anton, his voice gentler than most would believe possible.

Liv stands, stretching, which shows her visibly pregnant belly. I don’t miss the way Anton gently strokes it for a second and remember those days with Elena. “We should head to our suite and let you guys have some peace.”

I nod as they move to follow Elena and Miran inside. Their guest suite is on the same floor but the opposite end of a long hallway. Anton hangs back, letting his wife proceed him before looking at me. “You did it,” he says quietly. “You got out.”

I glance around at our villa, which is a real home, not a fortress or a penthouse. “We both did.”

He shakes his head. “I’m still in it. Just...differently.”

“You could leave too.”

Anton’s gaze follows Liv, who’s waiting by the stairs. “Maybe someday. For now, I keep the peace, and I keep her separate.”

“When your baby comes?”

He gives me a smile, but his eyes are hard. “I’ll keep both of my girls safe.”

I nod, understanding what drives him. “I know you will. She knows it too.” I nod to Liv.

He gives his wife a loving look as she waggles her fingers at him. “I didn’t understand why you left before, but I do now. Maybe someday,” he says again as he nods to me before going to join his wife for the walk upstairs.

Once I’m alone, I spend a few minutes picking up discarded wrapping paper and plates to remove all signs of the outdoor party. We have household staff, since Elena works, but I prefer to do a lot of it myself. I relish the days our staff is gone because domesticity is so soothing and normal. The silence is comfortable.

I finish cleaning and move inside to pour a glass of water, leaning against the kitchen counter. From here, I can see the backyard through the window—the swing set I built last summer and the garden Elena planted. Normal things. Things I never thought I’d have.

Elena comes downstairs a few minutes later, her footsteps light on the stairs. She finds me in the kitchen and smiles, looking as tired as I feel. Hosting a toddler’s birthday party is its own kind of enervation.

“He’s out,” she says. “Didn’t even make it through one story.”

She walks to the living room and collapses onto the couch. I follow, sitting beside her. She immediately sinks into mywarmth, her head resting against my chest. I pull her close, one arm around her shoulders, the other hand finding hers.

“Liv looked tired, so Anton took her up to bed.”

“Early night for all,” says Elena with a satisfied sigh.

For a long moment, we just sit there, bodies exhausted but fulfilled. The quiet house is our normal now. No gunshots. No sirens. No whispered threats.

Elena sighs once more, running a lazy hand over my stomach. “I have a full shift tomorrow.”

I brush my lips against her temple, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “And I have a Zoom meeting for the charitable clinic fund. I am still not sure how the governor’s wife persuaded me to take over your spot from thousands of miles away.”

She smiles against me. “She saw an opportunity and took it. You’re much better at intimidating donors into opening their wallets than I am even when it’s not in person.”

“I do not intimidate them,” I protest mildly. “I merely...encourage generous contributions.”

Elena laughs softly. “You stare at them until they write bigger checks. It works.”

I run my fingers through her hair, still amazed that I get to do this—touch her, hold her, and call her mine. Not as a possession, the way I once thought of people, but as a partner. An equal.

“We did well, did not we?” she asks, her voice quiet.

I tilt her chin so our gazes meet and hold. Her eyes are dark, questioning, as though she’s looking for reassurance that this life we’ve built is real and will last. I understand the fear and shareit, but I don’t surrender to it or entertain thoughts of losing what we have.

“We did,” I murmur, before capturing her lips in one final, lingering kiss. “Forever.”

Mine.

Forever.

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