HIS RUTHLESS MAFIA OBSESSION

CHAPTER THREE

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Failure—a poison that whispers. ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

|Geneveive|

No, please, don't stop.

I jolt awake, my heart racing as the remnants of last night's chaos flood my senses.

His lips almost touched mine, claiming them again, until he pulled away. Goosebumps creep beneath my skin.

The rope burns on my wrist, pulls at my skin, and I wince. Where the hell am I? What happened?

I blink into the daylight, then freeze as a chill runs down my spine.

"Sleep well, Mrs Maksim?" Andrey's voice drips with amusement, breaking through the haze of my thoughts, startling me, but I don't show it.

Fuck. Did I sleep in here with Andrey last night?

I look up, conjuring my most lethal poker face—he's standing by the window, shirtless, with a lit Cohiba cigar between his fingers.

The early morning light cuts through the curtains, kissing his tattooed pale skin. I try hard not to stare at his sculpted body but can't look away.

He's here, alive and unbothered. Unfortunately.

"I should have aimed for your heart."

Andrey doesn't even flinch. Bastard.

"I didn't know you cared," he takes a drag from his cigar, his voice steeped in that smug amusement that makes me want to either kiss him or kill him again—still debating.

"You mistake regret for sentiment," I say, slipping out of bed and brushing past him toward what I think is the bathroom.

My attempt to kill this fucker hasn't been in vain—at least I know he won't kill me. Not yet, anyway.

He's after something, and I'm a free bird until he gets it. I can't let that happen.

However, I lost control, which hasn't happened in a long time.

I splash some water on my face. My plan had been perfect. Killing Andrey would have placed me in the best position to inherit his empire as his widow.

At worse, I would have blamed it on the fucker who killed my last three husbands, and no one would bat an eye like they did in the past.

And then hunt down—

"Are you usually this quiet after failing to kill your husband?"

Andrey's annoying, husky voice cuts through my train of thought.

I scoff, "You're still breathing, and that's a problem."

A deep, throaty laugh escapes his lips, and I almost lose it.

The audacity of this man is biblical.

"You thought I'd make it easy for you," he says, stepping closer like an i***t with a death wish approaching a deadly serpent.

"You thought you'd marry me, poison me, and walk away with my empire like the black widow in couture."

I light a cigarette and exhale the smoke through my nose, meeting him halfway. "I did hope you'd at least play your role. You know—die gracefully."

"And if I had," he asks, his voice dropping while he stares me down with his beautiful, piercing green eyes. " What would you do with it all? With me gone?"

"I'd bury you with flowers and a smile. Then burn your enemies and make you proud."

Andrey hums, impressed. "Romantic."

There's a beat of silence between us as we stare each other down, calculating and observing, until he yields first.

A quick smile stretches on my lips, but I'm glad he walked away as I swallow the lump in my throat.

I follow him, walking to the window and looking at the city meant to be mine. If only I knew who had been targeting every husband I married.

"But there's something you did wrong, Malyshka," I roll my eyes, preparing myself for something he thinks I don't already know.

"You played your cards too early, and now I know exactly what kind of wife I married."

I didn't move a muscle or turn to look at him.

"And now, I know exactly what kind of monster I married. So we are even."

Andrey's minty breath suddenly fans my neck, and my body tenses. "Not even close."

He says it like a threat, but I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower.

With that, he walks out, leaving the scent of danger and his cologne in his wake, and the moment the door clicks shut, my mask slips.

For a second.

Fuck. f**k. f**k.

I failed—f*****g failed. Not just to kill Andrey but to control him. I tug the lace of my lingerie, pressing the scalding end of the cigarette to the skin on the side of my torso.

The burn is immediate—red-hot, sharp. I press it deeper, welcoming the pain.

It cuts through the chaos in my mind, a sharp reminder that I'm still alive and playing this twisted game called survival.

I close my eyes, leaning into the sensation of the burn.

It's the only thing that feels real right now—not James, my second husband, or my father's approval of anything.

The burn that sears my skin is nothing compared to the Hades in my chest—the failure, the loss of control—

And there's nothing more terrifying than that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The city is still groggy with the sunrise, and the streets are quiet when I steal away in one of Andrey's SUVs.

I take his last words as permission or maybe a dare. Either way, I'm out before he changes his mind.

The cigarette burn still throbs under my ribs, and my lungs are full of smoke and self-loathe. Not regret, never that. But disappointment? Yeah.

Ingrid is already there when I step into my penthouse, pacing like a tiger in boots and a leather jacket.

"f*****g finally!" she snaps the moment I shut the door.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind, Gen? You can't just go off without thinking! Your f*****g Russian husband made sure I couldn't get to you! I promised I'd always protect you!"

I don't answer. I just toss my designer coat on the armchair and move to pour myself a drink. Vodka at 8 a.m. is my new self-care.

"I told you to wait," she hisses, following me. "I was still gathering intel on him and his crew. I told you we needed more time—more control. But no, you decided to play Russian roulette with the devil."

"Are you here to rub it in my face that I failed?" I ask dryly, taking a long sip. "Yeah, I did! You can stop hyperventilating."

"What?" Ingrid scoffs like she can't believe what she's hearing.

I'm in a f*****g bad mood right now, and I can't contain her nagging. Gosh, is this how it feels to have a nagging wife?

"Do you have any idea what your little assassination attempt cost us?"

"What are you talking about?" I drawl.

"While you were off playing Mafia psychopath queen without a kingdom with your new husband, the Vasin syndicate got wind of a loophole to exploit."

That got my attention. I sit up, placing the glass on the table before me while staring at Ingrid.

"They hit one of the Swiss accounts and sealed the deal on the missile blueprint."

My hands ball into a fist. "Which of the Swiss accounts?"

"Zurich. The blind shell we've been feeding from for two years. Ninety-two million, gone. Laundered through crypto in under two hours."

Ingrid crosses her arms. "You left a hole wide enough for them to walk through, and they brought friends too."

I swallow hard, forcing my voice to stay calm. "I didn't plan to stay that long. He drugged me."

"No s**t. And here you are—alive and very much not in control."

I hate how right she is.

Ingrid takes a slow step toward me, lowering her voice. "Andrey knows. He's letting you breathe for now, but he's not stupid. He's watching. Every. Single. Move."

"I can handle him," I say, even if the words taste like a lie.

"No, you could have. Before you made your move too early." Her voice cracks slightly. "Did you know your father bought the missile blueprint off the Vasin?"

I blink. "What? No, Ingrid, that's impossible. Dad would never..."

My voice falters, but I force myself to sound firm. "My father wouldn't risk everything or his daughter's life for something like that."

"Yes, he would. He did."

"I have to pay him a visit," I mutter, picking up the glass of vodka again and taking a sip.

"To do what? Plead for it to earn his love and validation like you've always wanted? Or ask for it back because he always gave you what you want?"

I look away.

"When will you realise that the underworld is a dirty game where everyone's out for themselves, and trust is a liability?"

She stares at me, eyes glassy.

"I didn't risk my life protecting you while you steal away clients, territories, weapons and alliances, only to have you ruin everything you've worked for."

"I know," I light the hundredth cigarette for the morning, taking a drag. I saw you during the dance. There was blood, and you did what you had to do, or else I'd have had to die."

"Good," she replies, throwing a sealed envelope on the table.

"What is this?"

Ingrid doesn't answer, only watching me intently.

I reach for the envelope, my fingers trembling at the possibility of another bad news.

Did I make the right decision to marry Andrey?

It's barely over twenty-four hours, and I've taken another hit. If I take it up with Andrey, would he help me after I tried to murder him?

Ripping it open, my heart pounds. What if it contains something I can't undo?