All Chapters of My Neighbour's Wife: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Mor fiddled with the rosary, her fingers jittery. She cursed under her breath, despising the foul stench of piss and body odor. The women wouldn’t stop leering.Already, in the bathroom, King, as they called the top dog had tried to stick her hands down her pants while Mor was held back by a bunch of no-good whores with crack holes in their skin and rotting teeth.King had earned a black eye and torn lip from Mor.Many didn’t know, but Mor was a ruthless fighter. One couldn’t deal with devils without learning to protect themselves.But she was growing exhausted and pissy. Staying up all night, watching her back continuously, the anxiety and fear was starting to creep in. She would leave tomorrow, and she would see her son and husband at the safe house the government provided.One more night, she thought as she prayed The Lord’s Prayer. One more night and they would never get to her again. One more night and her son would be safe.They would try to kill her before then, that much she k

Unsigned divorce papers crinkle in my grasp. The visit to the asylum, like many others had been futile. Valentina ripped each document to shreds, violent in her rejection of our divorce.Anymore and I might kill her with my bare fucking hands.She wanted to remain tethered to me, knowing that as long as she lived, whatever plans I had with Susanna would be void.“Hope to God that I never leave this place, because the first thing I’ll do is gut the bitch myself.”My nostrils flare and my fingers twitch. Patience is slowly becoming my most despised virtue.A soft knock scatters my thoughts. I slam the papers shut just as Susanna’s perfume drifts into the room. She pokes her head inside, dark hair falling over her shoulder, and something in me twinges at the small smile she gives me. “Hey. Busy?”She looks younger now. Brighter, somehow.“Never too busy for you,” I state, as a matter-of-fact.Her cheeks take on a rosy hue and she slips inside. My mouth dries instantly and my chest tighte

The club looms ahead, sleek and dark, its golden insignia glowing under the London drizzle. Oblio Nero. A long line stretches down the sidewalk, but we don’t need to wait. Our VIP tickets see to that.“You’re insane,” Erica says, gripping Fabian’s arm tightly. “This place is insane!”The latter has barely spoken a word since I informed him of where we were going. His expression is drawn and distant, eyes darting about as if in search of something.I would normally pummel him for answers, but I can’t think past my wracking nerves and anxiety.What if this doesn’t go as planned? I don’t have a plan, even. What if things have changed? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if the moment our eyes meet, there’s no heat or tingle? What if he’s moved on? What if…I’ve lost him?We walk through the doors, let in quickly by the bouncers outside.The bass vibrates through my ribs. The club is all shadows and golden light, the people a perfect blend of affluence and excess. Waitresses glide by i

The memories return to me in bits over the next few weeks, fueling my need to see him. To explain. To apologize. To plead. But he never returned to London, and it took an embarrassing amount of time to realize why.As the owner, it was only normal that he attended the opening ceremony. The woman who had been perched on his shoulder that night is Diana Moreau, and she will be managing Oblio Nero. He has no reason to be here, when he has other engagements elsewhere.I wasn’t enough reason for him to stay. Not anymore. Because I’ve gone and ruined everything. Again.“I can’t have children!” The words rip from my throat like something jagged and raw, something torn straight from the center of my being. I hadn’t known for a long time. Not until a couple of years into my marriage with Jaxon. He’d returned home one night, drunk and angry. I was ill and didn’t feel like being subjected to his rage. I refused and the beating had been so bad, I’d broken a rib.He’d taken me to the hospital in b

Zefiro doesn’t take the envelope. Doesn’t even look at it. And for a second—maybe longer—I panic.“I’m twelve weeks.” My voice is hoarse, shaky. “I—I didn’t know. Not at first. Thought it was just the stress from exams, my shitty diet, my lack of sleep. But when I couldn’t keep food down, Fabian dragged me to the doctor, thinking I had the flu, and…”My words taper off into nothing as Zefiro takes a slow step back, then another, before sinking into his chair. He drags both hands over his face, through his hair, down again. Lets out a shuddering breath.“There’s a deal with the Chicago Outfit.” His voice is quiet, almost to himself. “This changes everything.”And then, he’s peering at me with a well -guarded, well-controlled expression. His eyes flick down once to my belly, and his nostrils flare. “Do you want it?”It is phrased like a casual question, but I see it for what it is. Another choice. The last choice I’ll ever likely make when it comes to whatever is left of us. And because