Page 42 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“It’s more than that. When I’m with you, I feel...seen. Like you understand parts of me that no one else does.”

He steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “I do see you, Elena. All of you.”

I lean into his touch, closing my eyes. “I don’t know if I can be the wife of abratvaleader.”

“I’m not asking you to be.” His thumb traces my lower lip. “I’m just asking you to be my wife. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go.”

I open my eyelids, meeting his gaze. “No more secrets. If I stay, I need to know everything, no matter how ugly.”

“Everything. No more secrets.”

I inhale and exhale slowly. “Show me the security system again. If this is my life now, I need to understand how it works.”

He nods, taking my hand. He leads me back to the hidden panel, opening it to reveal the monitors once more.

“The entire building is on a closed circuit.” He points to different screens. “These are the main entrances. These are the service areas. Every person who enters or exits is logged and tracked.”

I watch the screens, seeing staff members, residents, and delivery people going about their business, unaware they’re being monitored so closely. “What about inside the penthouse?” I ask.

“Only in the common areas. Never in the bedrooms or bathrooms. I value privacy too much for that.”

I nod, somewhat relieved. “And my bodyguards? Fydor and Valeriya?”

“They report directly to me. They’re two of my most trusted people.”

“And if the FBI approaches me again?”

“Call Mikhail immediately.” He frowns slightly. “Say nothing until he arrives, no matter what they show you or tell you.”

I turn to face him fully. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“No innocents,” I say firmly. “Ever. I can accept that your world has different rules and different justice, but I can’t accept civilian casualties.”

“You have my word,” he says solemnly. “No innocents.”

I search his eyes, looking for any sign of deception. Finding none, I nod. “Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll stay.”

12

Damir

Irun my hand along the smooth marble countertop of the kitchen in the new property. This acquisition will make an excellent addition to my legitimate portfolio, adding another step in separating my public persona from my other activities.

My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s Viktor. “What is it?” I ask, stepping away from the real estate agent, who’s giving me space to inspect the property.

“Sir, we’ve apprehended someone trying to enter the penthouse. Casey Harris.”

The name sends a flash of irritation through me. “Interesting timing. Hold him. I’ll deal with him when I return.”

“Yes, sir.”

I end the call and turn back to the agent with a practiced smile. “I’ll take it. Have the paperwork sent to my office.”

The woman’s eyes widen. No haggling and no further questions. That’s how I do business.

“Of course, Mr. Antonov. I’ll prepare everything immediately.”

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