Wife of a Ruthless Mafia Boss

"Perfect!" Azy, my manager, shouted enthusiastically when the shoot had ended. I walked towards the dressing room and tiredly sat in front of a vanity mirror. My three PAs immediately approached me to put some retouch-up powder here, lipstick there, a typical scene for me as a model. "Oh my gosh! You're really the definition of perfection, Jazzie," Azy said while standing behind me. I winced and simply shook my head. I wish you only knew. "Gorgeous, sexy, rich, and other traits that are truly admired by most men," he continued while still pointing at my whole being. I rolled my eyes at him in the mirror and let out a deep breath. "Stop it, Azy. You know how much I hate it," I uttered, talking about the compliments he gave. He rolled his eyes at me and flipped his imaginary long hair. "My God! Jazzie. I don't know if you're just being humble or you hate the truth. Alas! If I had that face and body, I wouldn't just flex them on the catwalk, but also in the kitchen, living room, or even in the restroom," he said along with his laughter. "You're pure nonsense, Azy Angelo," I muttered. Quickly, his face changed. "Oh my gosh! My ear, oh my gosh!" he acted while covering his ear with his finger. I laughed sparingly and then picked up my phone, which was currently glowing on the vanity mirror. My face became emotionless when I saw the name on the screen. I lazily swiped up the answer button and put the phone to my ear. "Are you done?" a cold baritone voice spoke on the line. "Yeah," I simply answered and signaled my PAs to stop. They moved away from me and let me sort my things out on my own. "Jaime will pick you up," he said, and then the line ended. I took a deep breath and hid the phone in my bag. "Do I have a schedule this week?" I asked and looked at Azy in the mirror. He pouted. "You actually have a project in Paris, but obviously, it seems like you don't want to accept an international photo shoot," he sounded sulky and displeased. It was not that I did not like it. "You have so many offers abroad, but you do not want to accept any of them. You are losing so many opportunities, Jazzie," he reminded me. I forced a smile and zipped up my bag. I walked towards him, then gently touched his shoulder. "I'm really fine here in the Philippines, Azy." He stared at me and then heaved a sigh. "If that's your decision, I can't do anything else. Your schedule this week is vacant, as you requested," he said. I grimaced again and thanked him before finally saying goodbye. Five bodyguards immediately surrounded me as soon as I exited the building I was in. A few more cameras flashed instantly as I walked towards the car that had been sent by the person I was talking to earlier. I was so shocked when I saw an unexpected person inside the car as I got into the back seat. I cleared my throat and composed myself while leaning against the seat. "You really like cameras, huh?" the man beside me spoke. I avoided rolling my eyes and just looked out the window, where I could see the three paparazzi who had been watching me earlier. Apparently, they couldn't see us now because the car window was tinted. "I'm a model, Valjerome. It was natural," I reasoned. As if you didn't know how much I had wanted to be a model since then. Or maybe... You just forgot. He did not say a word and signaled his man to start driving. I could feel him leaning back in his seat. I didn't bother to look back at him because I gradually felt tired after two hours of facing the camera earlier. I was about to close my eyes and take some rest when he spoke again. "You've got an offer in Paris?" he asked coldly. I sighed and then idly turned around. He immediately met my eyes. I no longer wondered how he found out. Knowing him and his connections, nothing was really surprising. I would be even more surprised if he knew nothing about the offers that were given to me. "Do not worry, I turned down the offer," I replied bitterly. "Good," he simply said and went back to his position. I just shook my head and continued what I was about to do earlier—take a nap. "Just stay here, you're not leaving. You're not going away," I heard him whisper before I drifted into oblivion. "MA'AM." I woke up from a gentle pat on my shoulder. I immediately looked around and noticed that I was already in my room, at my husband's house. That's right, I'm married to the man I was with earlier, Valjerome. I smiled a little at Manang Fe—the caretaker of the mansion—and slowly got up. "What time is it, Manang?" I politely asked and fixed my robe. I was stunned for a moment, and my cheeks warmed at the thought that Valjerome had dressed me again. That jerk! "It was ten o'clock in the evening, hija. Sir Valjerome told me to wake you up for dinner," said Manang. "Is he still here?" I asked. We may have been in the same house, but we slept separately—which he himself decided. "Yes, he is in his room with—" The old lady stopped and bowed her head. I sighed and tapped the old woman's shoulder. I forced a smile as she looked up at me. "It's okay, Manang. I'm used to it, so you do not have to keep it a secret," I said. She looked at me with such pity. "Why don't you just break up with him, hija?" Manang Fe asked me. I averted my gaze. "Maybe because I love him," I looked at her and forced a smile when the pity in her eyes doubled. "I can still tolerate it," I added. Manang Fe sighed, then gave me a hug. "May your patience for him have a purpose," she said softly. Impossible, but I hope so. "You go down first, I'll follow later," I said as we separated. Manang nodded and did what I had said. For the moment, I fixed myself in the mirror. My forehead furrowed when I noticed the make-up on my face had been removed. I just shrugged it off, thinking that Manang had wiped it off because it was impossible for Valjerome to know such things. All he does is change my clothes. As I was done with my appearance, I left my room. I was stunned when I came across Valjerome's room. I let out a bitter smile when I heard soft moans from there. It was not new to me, but I was still hurt by this situation. It had been more than two years since the two of us got married, two years of enduring him bringing different women here to the mansion. Two years of questioning why this was happening to me, to us. What kind of mistake had I ever made for him to hide me as his wife? But until now, the answer remained blank. I came back to my senses when his door suddenly opened. He stood and stared at me seriously while wearing nothing other than his boxer shorts. I immediately took my eyes off him and then continued walking. Even before I could get away, I heard him call his men and order them to dispatch the woman he had slept with. I laughed softly as I walked down the stairs. Yes, it was also not new to me to hear such a command from him. He was a mafia boss after all, a ruthless one. And I, Jazzie Zamora, was his wife.