All Chapters of The Ruthless Mafia’s Contracted Bride : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

The worst part about all of this is the fact that I’m out of time. I don’t have too long to sit and absorb all of this horrible information that was just dumped on me. I have to act quickly—and move quickly—or I’ll find myself stuck in an unpleasant situation. In top of that, I don’t know how I’ll even make it to this address because I’m a damned prisoner here. I’m not allowed to go anywhere without Igor’s permission. As I try to think of a way to get out of here without him finding out, I’m putting all the pieces of my life together and it isn’t looking good. Things are starting to make a little too much sense and I’m terrified that this will all be true. Because although I want to go to this retirement home and speak to this person he claimed to be my uncle, I’m hoping that he’ll say something to discredit Leo, or prove to me that this is all one big joke. Igor couldn’t have betrayed me like this. I can’t believe that. The man I love wouldn’t have done this to me. He told me tha

I press my phone to my ear and wait for him to pick up. I don’t know why the idea occurred to me—Boris has always been on Igor’s side where I’m concerned—but for some reason, I feel like I should. He’s my only lifeline at this point. If he doesn’t help me, I’m lost. He picks up, but sounds confused when he says, “Yes?”“Boris, it’s me,” I say hurriedly, afraid that he’ll hang up. This is his personal number, after all. “It’s Clara.”“Clara?” he says in confusion. “What’s wrong?”“Can we talk?” I ask. “Can we meet?”“What for? Where’s Igor?”“He doesn’t know where I am,” I admit. “And where is that exactly?”I move closer to the wall when a young nurse walks past with an elderly woman. They both smile at me as they walk past and I do the same. “At a retirement home. Do you have any idea why I might be in one?”Boris sucks in a breath. I know that he knows about all of this, and technically, he lied to me too, but I don’t hold him responsible the way I do Igor, and that’s because he

I pack the groceries in the paper bag and hand it to Mrs. Agatha. "Thank you, dear," she says to me, smiling. "Will you come to the festival tonight? They’re saying it’s going to be absolutely marvelous.”I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans. “I’m not sure. I didn’t plan for it, actually. I might show up. I’ll have to see.”“Do make an effort,” she says encouragingly just as she walks out of the store. With a wink, she adds, “It’s not a festival just for adults, you know.”I can’t help but mirror her smile. I wasn’t lying—I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it. There’s so much to do and the work at home keeps piling up. In my defense, I never had any experience with housework and chores. I grew up in a place where these things were done for me. I would’ve benefited from knowing, that’s for sure. Then again, I would never have guessed that I would end up here, in this position. But even though I’m completely overwhelmed with work and grew up with privileges, I’m a hundred times happ

The feeling of being watched started a few hours ago, and now I can’t seem to shake it off. It has to be paranoia because it doesn’t make sense. I was fine and now I’m constantly looking over my shoulder and wondering if there’s someone behind me. I guess it has to do with the fact that I feel so exposed with the boys. We’ve never been out here this long, much less in a densely populated place. I look around and see faces I don’t recognize—it’s unnerving. But they’re having a great time panting around with the other kids, and I don’t want to spoil their fun on account of my paranoia. Besides, it’s been years. I’m pretty sure that he’s given up by now. Why would he find me here, all the way in Alaska? The whole point was to move around and the first winter I spent here reinforced this idea. It was bitterly cold and nothing could be done. It was like I was living in a ghost town. But when the ice thawed and nature reemerged, my opinion changed and I decided to stay permanently. I

Igor I tip my head back and down the glass of whiskey. It burns all the way down, but it’s a burn that I’ve gotten used to, perhaps a little too much, over the years. We’re going on six years since Clara disappeared on me. I haven’t heard a single thing about her since she left. Sometimes, I catch myself wondering if she was ever in my life. Perhaps the time I spent with her was merely a figment of my imagination. Maybe she was never there. This fantasy comes to an abrupt end when I take a good look around me. When she left, we were in shambles. I’d invested the last of my family’s fortune in buying her, and I was counting on the money from her inheritance after our marriage to turn things around. When she left, everything changed. Even so, I’ve managed to keep everything afloat and now, I can gladly say that we’ve built everything we have from nothing, and at the end of the day, we didn’t really need her money. Our luck changed when she left. But that doesn’t mean that it no