The Mafia’s Boss Fake Widow

Chapter2:UnderHisProtection

Lena didn't look back at the grave.

She hitched up her wet black dress and ran. Mud sucked at her white shoes with every step. Rain lashed her hair across her face. She stepped on something soft — a white rose, Ethan's favorite, now trampled into the dirt.

Behind her, the whispers started.

"Is she okay?"

"She's leaving her own husband's funeral to follow a stranger?"

The black SUV that had been idling by the gate since morning growled to life the second she moved. Its headlights cut through the rain.

Damian's car waited outside the cemetery wall. Black. Engine already running.

He opened the passenger door for her. No words.

Inside, it was a different world. Cold, quiet. Expensive leather smell. Rain hammered the windows, but in here it was just a soft patter.

Water pooled from her dress onto his seat. She pressed herself against the door.

That's when she saw his hands on the steering wheel.

A thick scar across his knuckle. And a silver ring, skull head.

Her stomach dropped.

Two years ago. Their wedding night. Ethan drunk, his mouth close to her ear.

"Lena, if you ever see a man with a scar here and a skull ring — run. Name's Damian. Just run."

Now she was sitting two inches from that same hand, her fingers locked around the door handle.

"Are you kidnapping me?" The words scraped out of her throat.

Damian's eyes stayed on the rearview mirror. The black SUV had pulled out behind them, keeping two cars between them, wipers beating fast.

"I'm saving you," he said.

They hit the market road. People darted under umbrellas. Then Lena saw it.

Her little house at the end of the street. The porch light was on.

Someone was inside. A shadow moved past her kitchen window.

"Stop! That's my house! Someone is in there!"

Damian didn't even glance at it. He pressed the accelerator. Her house blurred past the window.

"That's exactly why you can't go home." His jaw tightened. "They're tearing it apart looking for the suitcase Ethan took. You walk in now, you don't walk out."

"Where is Ethan?" She wiped rain from her eyes with the back of her hand. "Where is my husband?"

Damian flipped Ethan's cracked watch onto the dashboard. It clattered.

"He owes me two million dollars. He faked his death to run."

Her mind snapped to that morning again. Ethan by the kitchen window, his tea untouched, his hand wrapped so tight around his mug his knuckles were white.

"Don't wait up. I'll be home late tonight."

He'd said it like a man already gone.

She went quiet. She watched her house light shrink in the side mirror until it disappeared.

The safe house wasn't a house. It was a mansion behind tall black gates. Armed guards. The gates slammed shut behind them with a heavy clang that vibrated through her chest.

Inside, it was colder than outside. No family photos. No warm lamps. One light burned in the vast living room. A place where a man lived alone for a very long time.

An old maid appeared and held out a white towel. She looked at Lena, then at Damian, and her face filled with pity.

"Another one?" she murmured under her breath.

Lena locked herself in the bathroom. In the mirror, her black dress had a small tear at the hem. Her lipstick was gone. Her eyes were raw and swollen.

Through the thin wall, she heard Damian on the phone.

"Find Ethan before they do," he said, his voice low and flat. "Or put him down before he talks."

Her wet bag buzzed non-stop on the sink. Sarah. Sarah. Sarah. 12 missed calls lighting up the screen.

Damian pushed the bathroom door open with two fingers. He didn't look at her, he looked at the phone.

"Turn it off. They'll track you through her. That SUV out there — it's not mine. They want Ethan worse than I do."

Her hands wouldn't cooperate, but she managed to hold the power button until the screen went black. The silence felt like a cell door closing.

Is this protection or prison?

Damian tossed an envelope on the marble counter. Photos spilled out.

Lena picked one up.

Her breath stopped.

Ethan. Alive. At the airport, two days ago. The same jacket he wore that last morning. A big black suitcase at his feet. He kept looking over his shoulder.

"He let me stand over an empty coffin," she whispered. Her voice cracked. "He let me cry over nothing while he ran."

Damian slid a second photo across the counter.

In this one, Ethan wasn't alone. A young woman with long dark hair held the other handle of the suitcase. Close. Too close.

Lena's chest caved in.

"Who is she?" The photo shook in her grip. "Who is that woman with my husband?"

Damian stared at the picture. For a moment, his cold mask slipped. Something like understanding crossed his face.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "But he didn't run alone."

She sank to the cold tile, knees hitting the floor. Tears burned behind her eyes but she was too tired to make a sound.

Damian knelt. He didn't touch her at first. He just stayed there, at her level.

"He didn't just leave you, Lena. He stole from me and from people who make me look gentle. If they find you before I find him, they will use you to get to him."

A car horn blasted outside. Loud. Close. GBOOM!

Lena scrambled to the window.

The black SUV had made it through the outer gate. Its headlights were on, pointed straight at the mansion, lighting up the living room.

"They followed us! They followed us here!"

Damian yanked her away from the glass. One hard pull. His hands gripped her waist, pinning her against the wall where the headlights couldn't reach them. They were chest to chest. She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her cheek — annoyingly calm — while her own was hammering against her ribs.

"Listen to me," he breathed against her ear, his voice barely a whisper. "Tomorrow you go back out there and you act like a broken widow. If they think you know where he is, they will take you. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her face wet.

"Let's make a deal," he said. "You stay here and let them see a mourning wife. I find your lying husband."

"And when you find him?" She looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes.

Before he could answer, a guard burst in, gun in hand, chest heaving.

"Boss — we pulled Ethan's car from the river. Blood inside. And we found a phone taped under the seat. It's full of pictures. Only her. Hundreds of pictures of Lena."

The floor fell out from under her. Her legs folded. This time she fell straight into Damian's chest.