Page 59 of The Mafia's Fake Wife

“Always the truth.” I touch her face gently. “Even when it’s ugly.”

Elena nods, her hand rising once more to the necklace. This time, she doesn’t try to remove it. Instead, she straightens it, accepting its weight against her skin. “I’ll read the file,” she says, her voice steady despite the emotional weight of what she’s just learned. “All of it.” Her fingers tighten around the manila folder’s edge, creasing it slightly. “I haven’t changed my mind about you destroying him.”

“I didn’t think you had, but maybe you’ll decide to remove your own limitation.”

She gives me a ghost of a smile. “I can’t condone murdering him.”

“Maybe not. Either way, he’ll suffer.”

She smiles in satisfaction. “Good.”

I step away, giving her the space she needs. The wooden floor creaks beneath my shoes when I move toward the doorway. “Dinner will be ready in an hour. Just pasta, nothing fancy.”

I leave her standing there, the emeralds catching the light at her throat with every breath she takes. The file rests in her hands. It’s Casey’s betrayal documented in black and white. Through the doorway, I glance back once. She hasn’t moved, tried to remove the necklace again, or rushed to follow me.

I’m not worried. The kitchen calls to me, and I let her have this moment alone with her thoughts. Some decisions can’t be rushed. Some truths need time to settle. I doubt she’ll agree to let me kill Casey. There’s no long-term value in that, but after seeing the facts laid out before me, I’d like nothing more than to end his miserable life. If she won’t relent, I’ll have to settle for giving him a long, painful lesson.

Either way, she’ll never consider going back to him, especially once she knows everything about him. She’s with me and will stay that way, because unlike Casey, I’ve given her the one thing she values most, which is the truth. Ugly and unvarnished, but honest. In a world built on lies, honesty is the rarest currency of all.

17

Elena (Ten Weeks Later)

Ipull the emerald necklace from my locker, clasping it around my neck with practiced fingers. The weight has become familiar over these months, comforting even. I catch my reflection in the small mirror inside my locker door. The emerald sits perfectly against my scrubs, a strange juxtaposition of medical practicality and luxury that somehow summarizes my life these days.

Twelve hours on my feet. Three emergency surgeries. One aortic dissection that nobody else caught.

“Dr. Clarke.” Dr. Patel approaches as I close my locker. “Your diagnosis on the Hernandez case was exceptional. That dissection was subtle, and most residents would have missed it.”

“Thank you.” I smile, warmth spreading through me at the validation. “The irregularity in the CT was easy to miss, but the pain pattern was classic.”

“You have good instincts.” She nods, already moving toward the door. “Keep trusting them.”

I check my phone as I gather my things. A calendar notification reminds me I have dinner with Damir tonight to celebrate our four-month anniversary. Four months of marriage to a man I barely knew when I said, “I do.” Four months of discovering who he really is beyond the criminal facade. Four months of... something I’m not ready to name yet.

It hits me suddenly that I’ve stopped counting down. For weeks after our wedding, I’d mentally tick off each day that brought me one day closer to the end of our six-month arrangement. I realize now that I haven’t thought about that countdown in over two months. The necklace now feels like a part of me. I only remove it for surgeries, putting it back on immediately after, like now. The only other time it comes off is at night when I put it in a jewelry box on my vanity while I sleep.

The feds haven’t approached me again either. That whole aspect of our arrangement, me providing Damir with an alibi, seems to have faded into the background. We’re just living. Being married without the constant reminder of deals and agendas.

I push away the thought that tries to surface about falling in love with my husband. That’s territory I’m not ready to explore.

The hospital corridors are quiet when I make my way toward the staff exit. Most of the day shift has already left, and the night crew is settled in at their stations. My security detail will be waiting discreetly by the door. I’ve grown used to their presence, hardly noticing them anymore.

The automatic doors slide open, and fresh air hits my face. After twelve hours in the sterile hospital environment, even city airsmells wonderful. I inhale deeply, already thinking about dinner with Damir, when I spothim.

Casey.

He slouches against a car in the parking lot, hands stuffed in his pockets. Even from this distance, I can see how his once-fitted designer clothes hang even more loosely on his frame. His face looks gaunt, and his cheekbones are more pronounced than I remember.

Valeriya and the others immediately move forward, but I hold up my hand, signaling them to wait. After weeks of silence, I’m curious about what brought him here.

“Elena.” Casey straightens as I approach, his voice carrying across the parking lot. “We need to talk.”

I tighten my grip on my oversized bag that holds a change of clothes and workout gear along with my purse. “We really don’t.”

“Please.” He moves closer, his eyes pleading. “You don’t love him. You’re scared.”

“I don’t love you,” I remind him. “I made that perfectly clear.”

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