Page 10 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“And now he wants to marry you.” Liv’s voice is flat with disbelief.

“Not for real. He wants a fake wife for some undisclosed reason, and he’s offering to pay my tuition in exchange.”

Liv whistles low. “That’s somePretty Womanshit right there.”

“Except I’m not a prostitute, and he’s not Richard Gere.” I grab a throw pillow and hug it to my chest. “He’s creepy. He knew my class schedule, Liv. He knew exactly how much money I need.”

Her expression shifts from amused to concerned. “That is creepy. How would he know that?”

“I have no idea. Maybe he overheard something at the hospital?” Even as I say it, it doesn’t make sense. No one at the hospital knows the details of my financial situation except Liv…and Justin has an inkling.

“What did you say his name was again?”

“Damir Antonov.”

Liv pulls out her phone and starts typing. Her eyes widen. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

She turns her phone toward me. On the screen is a photo of Damir in a tuxedo at some charity gala, standing next to the mayor. The headline reads: “Tech Mogul Damir Antonov Donates $5 Million to Children’s Hospital.”

“Tech mogul?” I grab her phone, scrolling through the article. “It says he’s the CEO of Volkov Industries. They do... something with cybersecurity?”

“Keep scrolling.”

I do, and my mouth goes dry. Forbes estimates his net worth at over two billion dollars. “Two billion?” I whisper.

“With a B.” Liv takes her phone back. “You need to be careful. Guys like that—rich, powerful, and dangerous—don’t hear the word no.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not considering it.”

“Good.” Liv stands up and stretches. “Because it sounds shady as hell. Why would a billionaire need a fake wife? Tax reasons? Green card? Hiding his sexuality from conservative investors?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” I toss aside the pillow. “I’m not marrying a stranger for money.”

“Even if it means dropping out of med school?” Liv’s question is gentle, but it hits like a punch.

“I’ll figure out something.” I stand up too, suddenly restless. “I’ve got one day still. Maybe I can get an emergency loan from somewhere else.”

Liv gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe it any more than I do. “I’d loan you the money if I had it.”

“I know.” I squeeze her arm. “And I love you for that, but I’ll figure this out on my own.”

Later, lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the city through my cracked window. The financial aid office was clear—no extensions and no emergency funds. My credit isshot thanks to Casey putting bills in my name and never paying them. No bank will give me a loan without a cosigner, and I have no one to ask.

I think about my mother, gone almost three years now. She’d worked so hard to save for my education, setting aside every spare penny from her nursing salary, combined with the small trust fund her own mother left her. The inheritance was supposed to be her legacy. Her way of giving me a solid foundation.

And Casey stole it all.

For a brief, terrible moment, I wonder what would happen if I took up Damir on his offer. Just for a second, I let myself imagine it. A business arrangement. A transaction. A way to finish my degree.

Then I remember the cold calculation in his eyes, and the fantasy shatters. Whatever Damir Antonov wants, it can’t be as simple as he claims. Men like him don’t offer solutions without hidden costs.

I roll over, punching my pillow into shape. Tomorrow, I’ll try the alumni emergency fund again. Or maybe I can get a job. I’m going to have to anyway. I’ll probably need a dozen jobs to save enough to cover my last six months of education. How long will that take? I’ll be set back months, maybe even years, in pursuit of my degree. Still, I have to do something. Anything but Damir’s offer.

The lectureon cardiac pathophysiology drags on, but I barely register a word. My notebook remains blank as Professor Whitman drones on about myocardial infarctions. Normally, I’d be taking detailed notes, asking questions, fully engaged. Today, all I can think about is the tuition deadline looming tomorrow, and the bizarre encounter with Damir.

When class finally ends, I shove my unused notebook into my bag and head for the door, my mind already racing through increasingly desperate options. Maybe I could sell my car? It’s barely worth $3,000, but it’s something. Or pawn my laptop? I’d need it for classes, but maybe?—

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