Page 33 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“Yes. I didn’t know his name until I figured out he must be the loser who screwed you over, but I’ve seen him gambling at one of my clubs. He also frequents one of the strip clubs.” He sends me an almost apologetic look as he reveals that.

Surprisingly, it doesn’t sting at all. I guess after he cheated me by taking all my money, I’m not surprised to learn he might have cheated on me in other ways. The only real surprise is that Casey was involved in illegal gambling.

I have a hard time imagining him being brave enough to enter such an establishment. He once fainted when a mouse ran across his foot in our apartment. I captured the little guy (or girl) and set it free outside before returning to soothe Casey for hours.

I frown, suddenly remembering he’d been angry with me for not killing the mouse, since it dared invade our home and attack him. When I’d pointed out it was just a mouse doing what a mouse does, he’d been so weak and petulant that it had been off-putting then, but I’d somehow made myself forget and continued on with him. How could I have done that to myself?

Damir drives in silence for several blocks, resting one hand casually on the steering wheel. The interior of the car smells of expensive leather and his subtle cologne. It’s becoming a scent I associate with safety and power.

“Do you still want revenge?” he asks suddenly, his voice casual, as if inquiring about dinner preferences. “Or will you forgive him and forget what he did?”

The question catches me off guard. “Of course, I want revenge.” The words come out aw and honest before I can consider them. “I want him to suffer for what he did. I want him to lose everything the way I almost did.”

His gaze flicks to me briefly before returning to the road. “I could arrange that.”

I shiver slightly at the matter-of-fact way he says it. “I don’t want him dead,” I clarify quickly.

“Dead men learn nothing.” He turns onto a less crowded street. “They feel nothing.”

“Exactly.” I stare out the window at the passing buildings. “I want him to live with the consequences. To understand what it feels like to have everything taken away.”

Damir’s lips curve into a genuine smile, transforming his severe features. “You want him to live with suffering.” He reaches over and takes my hand, brushing his thumb across my knuckles. “You’re perfect,solnishko.”

Heat rises to my cheeks at the endearment. I’m not sure if I should be pleased that he approves of my vindictive thoughts. He’s abratvaman, so violence and retribution are his currency. What does it say about me that I’m sitting here discussing revenge so casually?

“What does that mean?” I ask, deflecting from my discomfort. “Solnishko?”

“Little sun,” Damir translates, his accent thickening around the Russian word. “Because you bring light.”

The compliment catches me by surprise, and I look down at our joined hands. His is large, with long fingers and manicurednails. Mine seems small in comparison and pale against his tanned skin. “I don’t feel very light right now. Seeing Casey again brought back everything.”

“Anger isn’t darkness,” says Damir, his voice thoughtful. “It’s fire. It can destroy, yes, but it can also forge something stronger.”

The car slows as we approach a red light. He turns to look at me fully. “What would you like me to do about Casey Harris?”

The question hangs between us. I know what Damir is capable of since I’ve pieced together enough about his business to grasp that. With a word from him, Casey could lose everything—his freedom, his future, and even his life.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “Part of me wants to hurt him the way he hurt me. Another part just wants to move forward and forget he exists.”

“Both are possible.” Damir’s thumb continues its gentle path across my skin. “You can have your revenge and still move forward. One does not preclude the other.” The light changes, and he returns his attention to driving, though he keeps hold of my hand.

“What would you do?” I ask. “If someone betrayed you like that?”

A dark expression crosses his face. “I would ensure they regretted it for the remainder of their very short life.”

The coldness in his voice sends a shiver through me. “That seems excessive for stealing money.”

“Not for the theft,” Damir clarifies. “For the betrayal. Money can be replaced. Trust, once broken, is much harder to restore.”

His words resonate with something deeper inside me. It wasn’t just the money Casey stole. It was my sense of security, my trust, and my belief in my own judgment. “I want him to pay,” I say finally. “Not with his life, but with everything else. I want him to know what it feels like to have no options and no way out.”

Damir nods, satisfaction evident in the set of his shoulders. “Consider it done.”

“What will you do?” I ask, suddenly nervous.

“Better you don’t know the details.” He squeezes my hand reassuringly. “But I promise you he will suffer, he will learn, and he’ll live to regret ever hurting you.”

The car turns onto the street leading to his penthouse—our home, at least for now. I should be horrified by this conversation and the casual way we’re discussing destroying someone’s life. Instead, I feel a strange sense of peace. “Thank you,” I say quietly.

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