Page 14 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

My jaw tightens. Good. She knows she’s out of options now.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She nods, rubbing her wrist where Justin had grabbed her. “I’m fine. Thank you for... that.” She gestures vaguely in the direction Justin fled. “Though I could have handled it.”

“I’m sure you could have.”

She studies me, wariness in her eyes. “Why are you here? Are you following me?”

“I was visiting Anton.”

“Oh.” She shifts her weight. “How is he?”

“Better. He speaks highly of you.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just doing my job.”

I glance at the envelope in her bag. “Still having trouble with your tuition?”

Her eyes widen, then narrow. “I said no.”

“I can make this go away,” I say.

She stares at me, suspicion clear on her face. “What’s in it for you?”

“I told you my proposal yesterday.”

“A fake marriage.” She shakes her head. “Why would you need that? What’s the real reason?”

I consider lying, then decide against it. She’s too smart for that. “I’m involved in a federal investigation, and I need an ironclad alibi.”

“You want me to lie to federal agents?”

“I want you to be my wife. The rest takes care of itself.”

She doesn’t respond, but I see the moment she realizes she’s already mine. Her shoulders drop slightly, resignation settling over her features. I try not to glory in signs of surrender and endeavor to keep my expression neutral. “Here.” I pull out my business card, writing my personal number on the back. “Call me when you’ve made your decision.” I give it to her again, though I doubt she lost the first one I gave her.

She takes the card, brushing her fingers against mine. “What if I say no?”

“Then you say no… But we both know you won’t.”

I leave her standing in the parking lot, feeling her watching me as I walk to my car. Viktor opens the door for me, his face carefully blank.

“Take me to the office,” I tell him as we pull away.

I don’t look back at Elena, but her image stays with me—the defiance in her eyes, and the pride in the set of her shoulders even as she faced financial ruin. She’s nothing like the women I usually surround myself with. Nothing like anyone in my world.

Maybe that’s why I can’t get her out of my head.

My phone ringsat 8:47 that evening. I’m in my study, reviewing financial reports with a glass of vodka at my elbow. I recognize the number immediately. “Elena,” I answer.

A pause. “How did you know it was me?”

“I make it my business to know things.”

She’s silent for a moment. “I’ve been thinking about your...offer.”

“And?”

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