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Addicted To My Genius Assassin Wife Novel Cover

Addicted To My Genius Assassin Wife

My entire family was slaughtered three years ago by Alistair Kirkland, the usurper who stole the underworld throne. I was the only survivor. Smuggled out of New York as a child, I was trained in the shadows to become a flawless weapon. Now, at sixteen, I returned to the city that was supposed to be my graveyard. But the New York I returned to was a suffocating cage. Kirkland didn't just wipe out the Valenzuela bloodline; he branded my few surviving loyalists as traitors. He paraded my men down the streets in heavy iron chains, letting the very people we once protected hurl rocks at them. He bought the doctors, ensuring my wounded soldiers would bleed out in the dark. Even worse, the mother of my only ally—Julian Morgan—secretly sold us out to a Chicago warlord just to keep her archaic grip on power. I stood in the shadows, watching an eleven-year-old boy get his head smashed with a jagged stone just for defending his father's honor. How could the city my grandfather built cheer for our extermination? Why did the old guard prefer to cower and die in the dark rather than fight the monster who stole our home? "Ghosts don't knock on my door, Athena. What do you want?" Julian asked me. I tossed a blood-stained ledger of Kirkland's deepest secrets onto his desk. "I'm here to help you take back what's yours, and burn Alistair Kirkland's empire to the ground."
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Chapter 8

Julian POV

The stench of iodine and impending death hung heavy in the Queens distillery. I stood by the office window, the failure of securing Dr. Alcott gnawing at my pride. Kirkland’s reach was a suffocating noose around our necks.

Below, the heavy canvas flaps parted. Athena emerged from the shadows with Derek Hobbs trailing behind her. She looked like a ghost returning to her grave. The mocking fire that usually danced in her eyes was gone, replaced by a bottomless, quiet sorrow. She clutched a charred leather tube to her chest as if it were the only thing keeping her anchored to the earth.

I didn't ask where she had been. I simply poured two glasses of amber whiskey and handed her one. As she took it, her fingertips brushed mine. Her skin was as cold as marble.

From the makeshift infirmary below, my dying soldier let out a wet, rattling groan. The sound sliced through the fragile silence between us like a dull blade. Looking at her standing there in the dim light, the flawless armor of Athena 'Nemesis' Wise showed a hairline fracture. For the first time, my desire to protect her eclipsed the cold calculus of our alliance. She wasn't just a weapon anymore; she was a woman carrying the weight of a slaughtered empire, and I found myself wanting to shoulder that burden with her.

By dawn, the escalating reality of our war dragged me to the dusty, labyrinthine aisles of Columbia University’s Butler Library.

Isabella stood between rows of forgotten history, her wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses failing to hide her trembling hands. The lazy smirk my cousin usually wore was entirely absent.

"Gus 'The Butcher' Camacho is in New York," Bella whispered, her words rushing out in a panicked breath. "Five hundred independent Chicago hitters, waiting for the highest bidder."

Before I could process the sheer scale of the threat, her voice cracked. "Kirkland is selling me, Julian. An arranged marriage to a Chicago outfit to cement his alliance. I'm just a bargaining chip."

My blood turned to ice. Kirkland wasn't just importing an army; he was stealing my only family and my best spy. The *Vendetta* was bleeding beyond New York's borders, threatening to consume everything I had left.

I needed guidance. I found my mother, Eleonora, in a windowless storage room back at the safe house. I relayed Bella’s panic and Gus Camacho’s arrival, expecting a counter-strategy.

Eleonora’s pale face twisted into a sneer. "Camacho is a filthy, untrustworthy butcher," she spat, her voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "He will taint the Morgan name and drain our secret funds. And Isabella? A tainted girl raised by our enemies. Let Kirkland marry her off. Her misery can be a useful pawn later. We stay in the shadows, Julian. We wait."

I stared at the woman who had orchestrated my survival for twenty years. Her paranoid, archaic philosophy was a slow death sentence. If I followed her into the dark, I would never wear the crown. The invisible thread of absolute obedience between us snapped, leaving nothing but cold clarity.

I left her in the dark and strode into the office. Athena was already there, tracing the sprawling map of New York with a steady finger. Leo stood by the door, his posture rigid.

I laid it all out—Gus’s army, Bella’s forced marriage, the impending doom.

Athena didn't flinch. Instead, that familiar, dangerous smile touched her lips. "An army for sale and a princess marrying our enemy," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with a terrifying brilliance. "That isn't a crisis, Julian. That's an opportunity."

She turned to face me, the ghost from last night replaced by a ruthless queen. "We don't buy Gus. We recruit him as the inevitable victors. And as for Isabella... we turn her wedding into a funeral. But to do that, we need to draw Kirkland out. We need a public spectacle to prove his empire is bleeding."

Her audacity was intoxicating. I looked at Leo, feeling the mantle of the *Don* finally settle heavily on my shoulders, crushing the obedient heir I used to be.

"Contact our people in Chicago," I ordered Leo, my voice leaving no room for debate. "I want everything on The Butcher. And set up a meeting." I stepped closer to Athena, binding my fate entirely to hers. "Miss Wise is in full control of this operation."

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