Page 21 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“He stole everything, which was my inheritance from my mother and left me with nothing.”

I take a measured sip of my vodka, savoring the burn. “And now you want your money back.”

“Not just the money.” Her eyes harden, a darkness passing over her face that I recognize all too well. “I want revenge.”

The word hangs between us, heavy and poisonous. I understand revenge. It’s been my constant companion for years now.

“I seek revenge from someone too,” I say, surprising myself with the confession. “It’s not about money.”

She doesn’t press for details, which I appreciate. Instead, her gaze drops to my mouth, lingering there for a moment too long. I notice. Of course, I notice. I’ve been watching her every move since she walked into my life.

I set down my glass and lean back, watching her like a predator waiting for prey to make the first move. “You know, I saw you before we officially met.”

Her eyebrows lift. “What do you mean?”

“At the hospital. Three weeks ago.” I take another sip of vodka. “You were taking care of Anton and didn’t see me.”

“You were watching me?” Her voice rises slightly.

“I noticed you,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”

Elena shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with this revelation. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’ve wanted you since that moment.” The words are more straightforward than I intended. The vodka has loosened my tongue, perhaps, or maybe it’s the way she looks tonight, still in her wedding dress, with her hair falling around her shoulders.

She laughs, the sound sharp and disbelieving. “No, you haven’t.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re confusing convenience with desire.” She takes another sip, longer this time. “You needed a wife. I was available and desperate.”

I study the defiance in her eyes, and the slight flush on her cheeks from the alcohol. “If that’s what you believe, prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That you don’t feel this too.” I gesture between us. “Kiss me. If you feel nothing, I’ll never mention it again.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” I drain my glass, setting it down with a decisive click. “One kiss to settle the matter.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“No,” I agree. “You don’t.”

She stares at me, conflict evident in her expression. I remain still, waiting. The tension between us thickens, electric and dangerous.

“I won’t touch you unless you ask,” I say, my voice low and deliberate, “But if you want to know the truth, come here and kiss me.”

Her breath stills for a tick. She hesitates, just for a second. Then, slowly, she stands and crosses the space between us. My muscles tense in anticipation. She stops directly in front of me, our gazes locked, then presses her lips to mine.

The contact is tentative at first, a mere brush of skin to skin, but it’s enough to shatter my restraint. I remain motionless for exactly three seconds before I move my hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

She tastes like vodka and something sweeter. I explore her mouth with my tongue, claiming her with a hunger I’ve been suppressing since I first saw her. To my surprise, she matches my intensity, gripping my shoulders.

When we break apart, her pupils are dilated, and her breathing is rapid. “That doesn’t prove anything,” she whispers, but the tremor in her voice betrays her.

“Liar,” I murmur, tracing my thumb across her lower lip.

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