Mafia Princess: Escaping His Deadly Lie

l, my husband Julian has been my rock. Our last hope was a black-market

overheard him promise that

his mistres

; I was just the placeholder. On a hidden security feed, I watched him in my dead parent

cklace he'd bought for my birth

her whisper, "Just a little longe

ng me. He was active

cold, hard stone in my chest. The man whose devotion I

ce. I left my wedding ring and the signed divorce papers on the entryway t

pte

rina

ess and in health just promised my on

at had nothing to do with the room's temperature. It had settled deep in my bones. It wasn't the

wait. The doctors said she has three months left, maybe more. Ava's m

The black-market liver-the one secured through a life-

his mistres

my rock. He'd held my hair back as I retched, spoon-fed me broth when I couldn't keep anything down, and whispere

n's voice, soft and cloying. A

Julian soothed. "

o place with sickening precision. My illness had started three years ago.

y sound of a child's voice through the

Daddy has some

t mask of concern. He was the picture of a rising Capo in the B

bent to kiss my forehead

e home, now felt like a brand.

bit," he said, stroking

e bedside table. An ove

irthday. A cruel, sentimental joke. I ignored the texts and went straight

phone's GPS. His car wasn't at his

at my parent

mer Pakhan, once ruled. A place Julian had forbidden me from visiting sinc

app, the one he'd installed on my phone years ago, was

to life, and with i

l with his dark hair on his knee. There was Ava, handing him a bowl of chowder. A

all box. From it, he drew the delicate diamond necklace, a lim

it around

r love I had left for him didn't just wither and die. I

phone. I dialed the on

la answered on

What's

he surgery is happening there. Julian is not to be involved." I paused, my eyes locked on t