Mafia's Runaway Wife Turned Enemy

I got home, my body still aching from last night, and headed straight to the bedroom. The sight of Sasha lounging on my side of the bed stopped me cold. She sat cross-legged, flipping through a magazine like she belonged there.

“What are you doing here?” My voice came out sharp and louder than I intended.

She glanced up, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, Jameson said I could stay for a while. Something about how I needed a place to settle back in.”

My hands clenched into fists at my sides. “In our house?”

“His house,” she corrected, tilting her head as if it were obvious.

Before I could say anything else, Jameson walked in. His eyes scanned my face, pausing at the bruise on my cheek.

“What happened to you?” he asked, his tone flat. “Did you tell them anything?”

I frowned. “What?”

“The men who hurt you,” he said, crossing his arms. “Did you mention Sasha? Did you say anything about the Silver Bullets?”

My jaw tightened. Of all the questions he could have asked—about how I was feeling, about what happened—this was what he cared about. Protecting Sasha. Protecting himself.

I lost our baby because of that. But it’s not like I was going to tell him. What was the point? He wouldn’t care. I thought the baby could save our marriage, but I was wrong. At least now, I could leave without anything holding me back from Jameson.

“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t mention her.”

“Good,” he said, as if that was the only thing that mattered.

Sasha snorted softly.

I looked between the two of them, something inside me breaking all over again. “You know what? Do whatever you want. Both of you.”

Jameson frowned, like he couldn’t understand why I was upset. Sasha just shrugged, looking perfectly comfortable in the bed that was supposed to be mine.

I turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me. I spent the rest of the night on the couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering how my life had come to this.

The next morning, I woke up with a stiff neck and an even heavier heart. I couldn’t stay here—not like this.

By midday, I found myself in a small office on the outskirts of the city, sitting across from a woman in a sharp suit.

“You want to cancel all your identities?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I said firmly.

“That’s not an easy process, especially for someone like you.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

She leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. “You’re married to Jameson Cross, leader of the Silver Bullets. That name comes with a lot of baggage. People don’t just disappear from that world.”

“I don’t care how hard it is,” I said, pleading. “I’ll pay whatever it takes. Just make it happen. If I have to die to vanish, then do it.”

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “It’ll cost you. A lot.”

“Money isn’t an issue,” I said.

“Alright,” she said, pulling out a stack of paperwork. “Sign these. We’ll get started.”

I spent the next hour filling out forms, each signature feeling like a small piece of freedom. By the time I left, the weight on my chest had lifted just a little.

When I got back home, the sight of the house made my stomach turn. I parked in the driveway and sat there for a few minutes, trying to gather the energy to go inside.

I opened the door to the bedroom and stopped in my tracks. A set of lacy lingerie lay sprawled across the bed, glaringly out of place against the familiar sheets.

I picked up the lingerie with trembling hands and marched out into the hallway, where Sasha was lounging on the couch.

“You might want to be more careful,” I said, my voice cold. “Next time, don’t leave your things in my bedroom.”

Sasha looked up, a mockingly innocent expression on her face. “Oops,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry about that. Jameson and I got... caught up in the moment.”

My blood boiled. “You’re disgusting.”

She smirked. “Don’t worry, I’ll get your favorite sheets cleaned. We made quite a mess.”