Page 57 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“Fifteen years of searching. It passed through seven owners before I tracked it down in Paris.” I slip the box into my pocket. “I bought it back five years ago.”

“And you’re giving it to Elena?”

“Not giving. Marking.” I meet his gaze. “She needs to understand what protection means.”

Anton nods slowly. “She’s not property, Damir.”

“No.” I look out at the city again. “She’s more valuable than property.” I look up at him again. “That’s why this necklace has a tracking chip in it.”

He frowns. “I understand your position, but will she? Tagging her seems like something you’d do to a pet.”

I shake my head, dismissing his concerns, though part of me thinks he’s probably right in some regard. A bittersweet memory of Sasha flashes through my mind, and I force it away. Dwelling on having to say goodbye to my beautiful husky always brings unwelcome emotions to the surface, along with bitter resentment toward my parents, who sold her shortly before they sold me. “We protect pets because we cherish them. It’s the same with wives.”

He snorts softly but doesn’t continue arguing. “You’re going to tell her about the chip, right?”

I don’t bother to answer, which is an answer on its own. He snorts again. “Allergies?” I ask coldly.

“Yeah, to bullshit.” With that, he takes his coffee and leaves me to my silence and grim contemplation as I continue digging through Casey’s file. There’s nothing else too shocking, but it paints a picture of a loser who never takes responsibility. That’s about to change.

That evening,I wait in our penthouse. The velvet box sits on the coffee table, centered perfectly. I hear the elevator doors open, then Elena’s footsteps. She drops her bag by the door and kicks off her shoes.

“Damir?” she calls, spotting me in the living room.

“How was your day?” I ask, watching her closely.

“Exhausting. Twelve-hour rounds and two emergency surgeries I got to observe. Dr. Patel let me close on the second one.” She notices the box on the table. “What’s that?”

I gesture toward it. “Open it.”

Elena approaches cautiously, picking up the box. She opens it and inhales sharply at the sight of the emeralds and diamonds. “I can’t accept this,” she says immediately, closing the box and setting it back down. “It’s too much.”

“It’s not a gift,” I say, standing.

“Then what is it?” She crosses her arms.

“Insurance.” I move behind her, taking the box and removing the necklace. “My mother wore this before I was born.”

Elena stiffens. “Your mother? The one who?—”

“Sold me to thebratva. Yes.” I unclasp the necklace. “She sold this first, to cover my father’s debts. Then she sold other things. Eventually, she sold me.”

Elena turns to face me. “Why would you want me to wear something with such painful memories?”

“Turn around,” I say softly.

She hesitates, then turns. I brush aside her hair, grazing her neck as I place the necklace against her throat. The clasp clicks shut. “I spent fifteen years tracking this down.” I rest my hands on her shoulders. “I found it in Paris, owned by a jeweler who had no idea of its history.”

I guide her to the mirror on the wall, standing behind her as she sees herself wearing the emeralds. They complement her dark hair and eyes perfectly.

“Why give it to me?” she asks, meeting my gaze in the reflection.

“Because you need to understand something.” I touch the necklace, my fingers brushing her collarbone. “What was taken from me, I reclaim. What belongs to me, I protect.”

Her eyes flash with defiance. “I don’t belong to you.”

“No?” I smile slightly. “Then take it off.”

She raises her hand to the clasp, hesitates, then drops it again. Her gaze never leaves mine in the mirror.

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