Page 101 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

We climb to the second floor and proceed down a hallway lined with abstract art. The man in front opens a door and gestures for me to enter. To my surprise, it’s not a cell or a basement room but a luxurious guest suite. Huge windows offer a panoramic view of the bay. A king-sized bed dominates one wall, and there’s a sitting area with plush chairs and a small table.

“Bathroom’s through there,” says one of the men, nodding toward a door on the far wall. “Don’t try anything stupid.”

They leave, and I hear the distinct click of a lock engaging. I immediately check the windows and find they’re sealed shut and likely reinforced glass. The bathroom has no windows at all. I examine my zip-tied wrists, annoyed at how the plastic cuts into my skin. There’s nothing sharp enough in the room to cut them.

I return to the guest room to see if I can find anything useful. I’ve only been there a few minutes, pacing and assessing my options, when the door opens again. Casey steps in, closing it behind him.

My ex-boyfriend looks nothing like the polished med student I once knew. His designer clothes are rumpled and stained, his sandy blond hair unwashed and sticking up at odd angles. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and several days’ worth of stubble covers his jaw. “Elena,” he says, his voice cracking slightly. “Are you okay?”

I stare at him incredulously. “Am I okay? Are you seriously asking me that right now?”

He takes a step toward me, then seems to think better of it. “I mean, did they hurt you?”

“No, I’m not physically injured beyond these bruised wrists from the restraints,” I say, holding up my bound hands. “Though the stress could potentially impact my pregnancy.”

Casey winces visibly at that, his gaze dropping to my stomach. He paces nervously several feet away, running his hands through his already disheveled hair. When one of Nikolai’s men passes by the open door, Casey straightens his shoulders and adopts an air of confidence. The moment the man is gone, his expression crumples back into barely contained panic.

“What am I doing here, Casey?” I ask. “Why did Nikolai have me kidnapped?”

“It’s complicated,” he says, glancing toward the door.

“Uncomplicate it for me.”

He sighs, dropping into one of the chairs. “It started as a way to get back at Damir. I owed money—a lot of money—and Nikolai offered to clear my debts if I helped him.”

“Helped him do what?”

“Get information on Damir. When he made the offer, you two were already together, and I thought...” He trails off.

“You thought you’d use me,” I finish for him. “Again.”

He has the decency to look ashamed. “It wasn’t supposed to go this far. I was just supposed to find out about his operations and maybe plant some bugs. Then Nikolai found out you were married, and things escalated.”

I study Casey’s face, seeing the fear behind his eyes. “And now?”

“Now, Nikolai wants to use you as leverage against Damir. He wants everything—the territory, the businesses, all of it.”

I sit on the edge of the bed, processing this information. “So, I’m a bargaining chip.” I already knew that, but confirmation is ugly.

Casey nods miserably. “I tried to tell him it was a bad idea. Damir will burn the whole city down to get you back.”

“Then why did you go along with it?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” His voice rises, but then he glances nervously at the door and lowers it again. “Nikolai doesn’t take no for an answer. Once you’re in, you’re in.”

I notice how his hands shake slightly as he speaks. “You’re in over your head.”

“You have no idea,” he whispers. “This was supposed to be simple revenge. Get back at Damir for trying to ruin me, settle my debts with Nikolai, and maybe make some money in the process. Now, people are dead, and Nikolai’s talking about...” He stops abruptly.

“Talking about what?”

Casey shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” I say, leaning forward. “What is Nikolai planning to do with me after he gets what he wants from Damir?”

Casey doesn’t answer, which tells me everything I need to know. Nikolai has no intention of letting me go, regardless of what Damir does.

“How long have you been working with him?” I ask, changing tactics.

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