Mafia Billionaire’s Forlorn Wife
Chapter 1

|Seven Months Ago|

“I swear to god, Niko, if you’re not here in the next five minutes then I will kill you!” I growl into the phone before pocketing it and straightening the cuffs of my dress shirt again.

Electric torture poured through the blaring speakers of the busiest club in New York city and I replace myself brooding and glaring at every fool present here while I lounge in the VIP booth of the club with a private table all for myself.

The view of the dance floor is unobstructed and I have to refrain from getting up and leaving at the sight of all the drunken people grinding their sweat ridden bodies against each other.

The only reason I am even here in the first place is because of my best friend. The one mistake I made when I was six years old and decided that Niko was the one I wanted by my side for my whole life.

In the last twenty-eight years, he had effectively gotten into more trouble than he was worth and evidently, I was the one who got him out of it.

As I am sitting there sipping on moderate at best scotch, someone’s laughter floats towards me in the midst of all the noise like the sound of bell chimes breaking through the chaos.

My head snaps up and I instantly replace the source of the laughter in the most ethereal, angelic woman I have ever had the privilege of laying my eyes on.

She has long wavy blonde hair that reach her waist. She is wearing a red dress that flows around her body like a silken river. And her skin is the most beautiful golden I have ever seen. And from where I am sitting, I can see the constellation of freckles sitting on her nose and the way her eyes are the most striking green I have ever seen.

Like Ivy…

Poison Ivy.

I watch as she interacts with a mediocre male in a capacity of familiarity, placing her hand on his thigh but not in a manner that one would do with a lover…the male seems more likely to be her brother or even her friend for that matter.

I watch in distaste as he laughs with her, completely oblivious to the charms of the goddess sitting beside him until a man passes by their table and I watch his eyes darting towards him with curiosity and desire.

Oh. That’s why.

The girl chirps away happily at her friend/brother’s ear about something of interest to her when he mutters something under his breath and she throws her head back and laughs again.

The sound is addictive.

I wish to hear it again.

And just when she sobers up, wiping the corner of her eye, she feels the intensity of my stare and abruptly turns in my direction in alarm.

Her eyes widen slightly as she takes in my form.

That is when I know for a fact that I do not wish to leave this club without at least replaceing out the name of the woman who has me so bewitched with her laughter.

And so, I stand up and decide to do something which is going to change my entire life.

|End of Flashback|

Making her fall in love with me was child’s play. She was so smitten since the first day I stepped into her life, that it barely took the most basic efforts to make her believe I was the one who hung the moon.

Making her believe that a life with me was worth cutting off from her family had been a little difficult but it was manageable.

But what was the most difficult was spending the night lying awake in my bed on the night of the wedding while even the length of the entire wing separating me from Arabella could not stop the sound of her wails from reaching my ears.

She cried so much that when she stopped I felt the silence poking pins into my ears. Uncharacteristic fear struck me hard, making me rush out my room and dash towards hers, to check on her, only to press my ears against the door and listen to the small whimpers that came from inside.

I had then walked back to my room with something heavy and disheartening weighing me down.

I had to remind myself over and over again that I did not do anything to Arabella that she did not deserve. She was a Mancini and that was all the crime that she needed to commit in my eyes.

I thought of the day that my father was killed, the way he died making me promise to make Dominico Mancini suffer a fate worse than death. I had done what I did only to fulfil the promise I made to my dying father. And there was no other way to make Dominico feel the pain of what he made me feel.

I never wanted the life of the Bratva. Seven years ago, I was happily ruling the Wall Street with my knack for trading. I was the proud owner of successful hedge funds and I had money piling up for me in every corner that I turned. My father had been the head of the Russian Bratva, ruling from here in Seattle while I was his successful, billionaire son that turned heads everywhere he went.

I had my firm, I had my life, and I had the freedom that I desired so much.

And then came the war between the Bratva and the Italians. Dominico Mancini tricked my too trusting father and then killed him.

Leaving me alone, without the guiding shadow of the only parent that ever cared about me.

And with my father’s throne empty, people began to question his legacy. I could not continue to just be the billionaire CEO. I had to step into his shoes and rule the Bratva like my father would have expected me to do.

Then came the thirst for revenge.

I wanted to destroy the Mancini empire the way he thoroughly destroyed all the dreams that I had. I wanted to crush Dominico under my thumb and make his only son beg for mercy.

I was no longer just a CEO, I was also the head of the Bratva. And I had my responsibilities.

Because soon after my father’s death, I realised in the most cruel fashion that there was no space for generosity, for love, for weakness.

So, when Arabella Mancini walked into my life like she was a goddess who was walking among mortals, I could not help the pull that I felt towards her.

And when I formulated the plan to use her as revenge on Dominico, I knew that there was no better option. She was an important pawn in this game that I was playing to establish my legacy as the most ruthless boss the Bratva had ever seen.

And she deserves everything that I did to her because she is a f*****g Mancini.

At least that is what I tell myself as I make my way down the stairs and replace Vernon, the majordomo of my household standing in the foyer, overseeing the servants carrying in new plants.

“Good morning, sir, I gather that Mrs. Mikhailov liked the room you assigned for her.” Vernon says in a heavy British accent made only heavier with the weight of sarcasm dripping from his tone.

I stare at the bald headed middle aged man dressed to the nines in a perfectly fitted suit with a black bow tie sitting between the collar of a white dress shirt. Vernon had run my father’s household before me and had taken over for me when I came into power seven years ago. And now, at my age of thirty four years, Vernon was one of the three people who could use that tone with me.

He was also one of only two people who knew my real intention behind getting married to Arabella.

And he does not approve.

“Aren’t you getting cosy with the idea of having a Mrs. Mikhailov in the house?” I quip, staring down at my phone for any new updates.

“Well, it is no longer an idea, is it? She is currently in the guest bedroom in the East Wing and if Julie from the cleaning staff is to be believed, your dear wife was found passed out on the floor by the door, clearly exhausted from exercising her lungs so much last night that the whole city of Seattle heard her.”

The same heaviness clogs my heart once again at the image of Arabella sleeping on the floor with tear stains running down her cheeks as she slowly comes to accept the reality that she had been played by the man she trusted with her life.

My heart threatens to clench but I quickly shut the moron down and allow my brain to send a cool layer of indifference to spread all over my body.

I did nothing wrong.

I repeat to myself like a mantra.

Perhaps if you said it enough number of times, you would actually believe it.

“I’m leaving for a meeting in New York. Don’t expect me for the whole week.” And saying that, I storm out of the house.

However, just as I am about to reach for the car door, I hear Arabella’s voice call from behind me, “RHYS!”

I am turning towards her before I can give my body the memo to not react and when I watch her storming down the stairs— still wearing the wedding dress— with more tears streaming down her cheeks, I feel that pathetic little organ squeeze once again in my chest.

She comes to a stop in front of me, “please, tell me it was all a nightmare, Rhys.” She whimpers in front of me, reaching to take my hand before I can stop her. She has me cornered against the car.

Her touch sends a jolt of fire shooting from where our hands are joined together to my entire body, reaching my heart and thawing at the icy cold walls that I have built around it.

Her face is streaked with mascara running down her cheeks, her lips are dry and chapped from the dehydration because of all the crying. And hell, even her voice sounds like her throat is in a lot of pain.

I clench my hand in a tight fist, anger coursing through my body at the way this one woman was making me feel. I hate her with my entire being and yet, there is a part of me that cannot see her in this state.

A weak, pathetic, and disgusting part of me.

I pull my hand from her grip roughly, “you mean nothing to me, Arabella. Absolutely nothing. You will stay here, look pretty on my arm on the rare occasion that you are allowed outside the house, and aside from that, if you even try to cross me in any manner or interrupt my lifestyle, I will make everything a thousand times worse for you.” I hiss at her but the words taste like poison to me.

She gasps, replaceing it difficult to breathe and I have to resist the urge to take her in my arms.

f*****g hell!

I need to get away from her right this second.

Cussing under my breath, I snatch open the door of the Maybach behind me and she stumbles back to give me space. I slide into the car but just before I drive away, I hear her say in the weakest voice possible—

“Pumpkin…”

And it takes my entire will power and strength to not stop the car and rush back to her.

She is the f*****g enemy. I was only faking being in love with her. I have to snap out of it!