Page 51 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“Young, yes. Not the youngest they’ve taken though. Anton was just six when he joined us at the compound.” I pick up my coffee mug, inhaling the rich aroma before taking a slow sip. The bitterness coats my tongue, grounding me in the present. “The organization saw potential in me. I was placed in a training compound outside Moscow. That’s where I met Nikolai and Anton.”

I wait for the disgust, the pity—reactions I’ve seen when I’ve revealed pieces of my past, but Elena just sits there, her breakfast forgotten, listening as if trying to understand rather than judge. “You were just children.”

“We were merchandise,” I correct her gently. “Assets to be developed. Nikolai was nine and already there. Anton was placed in the compound two months after me. We all became friends because we had to. Survival required alliances.”

Elena pushes away her plate, her appetite apparently gone. “What was it like? The compound?”

“Cold. Brutal. Efficient.” I cut a perfect triangle from my crepe. “We trained sixteen hours a day. Combat, languages, weapons,and strategy. Failure meant punishment. Success meant less punishment.”

“And Irina? The housekeeper?”

A rare smile touches my lips. “She ran the kitchens. I was assigned there as punishment for fighting with another boy. She taught me to cook when the others were sleeping. Said every man should know how to feed himself.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“She was executed when I was twelve. They discovered she was passing information to a rival organization in exchange for enough money to properly feed us.” I say this matter-of-factly, though the memory still cuts deeply. “Her reasons didn’t matter, and I was forced to watch.”

Elena reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. The gesture is so unexpected I nearly pull away. “I’m so sorry, Damir.”

I turn my hand, making our palms meet. Her skin is soft against my calluses. “It was a long time ago.”

“What happened after that? With you and Nikolai and Anton?”

“We grew up and became the organization’s most effective team.” I withdraw my hand, resuming eating. “Nikolai was the charmer, Anton the intelligence gatherer, and I was the strategist. We were inseparable for years.”

“Until he betrayed you.”

I nod, my jaw tightening. “It was a territorial dispute over the Philadelphia port operations, which are valuable smuggling routes. Nikolai wanted to expand aggressively by takingover competing territories. I advocated for a more measured approach.”

“And Anton?”

“Anton sided with me. Nikolai didn’t take it well.” I push up the sleeve of my T-shirt, revealing a jagged scar that runs from my shoulder halfway down my bicep. “He got me alone one night and tried to kill me. Said if I wouldn’t follow him, I was in his way.”

Elena’s eyes trace the scar. “How did you survive?”

“I was faster. Always have been.” I pull my sleeve back down and stand, clearing our plates. “Nikolai set me up as the primary suspect in the federal investigation and scurried to Moscow for the fallout. He’s been trying to destroy me ever since.”

Elena follows me to the sink. “Why? If it was just a disagreement about strategy?—”

“Because I was chosen to lead instead of him.” I rinse the plates methodically. “The oldpakhan—the leader—selected me as his successor. Nikolai never forgave either of us for that.”

“And now you’re stuck in this life because of him. Alone…”

I turn to look at Elena, who watches me with those intelligent eyes that see too much.

“I’m not sure I want to do it alone anymore,” I say, my voice quieter than intended. The words hang between us, more revealing than anything I’ve said to her before. They surprise me as much as they seem to surprise her.

Her lips part, but before she can respond, I move to the living room, where my laptop sits on the coffee table. I open it, pullingup an email. “We have an event tonight. The Governor’s Charity Gala.”

Elena follows me. Her hair falls loosely around her shoulders as she leans over to see my screen. “A charity gala?” Her eyebrows lift in genuine surprise. “That doesn’t seem like your scene. Crystal chandeliers and champagne flutes rather than...” She trails off, gesturing vaguely at me.

“It’s the perfect opportunity to strengthen my alibi and reputation with certain officials who will be attending.” I turn the laptop toward her so she can see the ornate digital invitation with its gold lettering and city seal. “The FBI will definitely be watching. They always monitor these events.” I tap the screen where the guest list shows several names I’ve highlighted. “Half the justice department shows up to these things. Nothing says ‘innocent businessman’ like writing a large check for a charitable fund for the uninsured while shaking hands with a federal prosecutor.”

She studies the invitation. “And you want me to go with you?”

“You’re my wife, so it would be strange if you didn’t.” I stand, gesturing for her to follow me. “I’ve had something delivered for you.”

I lead her to her bedroom, opening the door. There are three designer gowns laid out across her bed—one deep emerald, one midnight blue, and one black with subtle silver beading. “Try them on. Choose whichever you prefer but keep them all.”

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