Mafia Princess: Escaping His Deadly Lie
For three years, a rare liver disease has been killing me. Through it all, my husband Julian has been my rock. Our last hope was a black-market liver, secured through a life-debt owed to my family, the Volkov Bratva.
But from my hospital bed, I overheard him promise that very liver to another woman.
It was for his mistress's mother.
I soon discovered he had a four-year-old daughter with her. Their family was established; I was just the placeholder. On a hidden security feed, I watched him in my dead parents' penthouse—a sacred place he forbade me from visiting—bouncing their child on his knee.
Then he fastened the diamond necklace he'd bought for my birthday around his mistress's neck.
The final blow came when I heard her whisper, "Just a little longer... the fever will do the rest."
He wasn't just leaving me. He was actively trying to kill me.
The love I had for him didn't just die; it turned to a cold, hard stone in my chest. The man whose devotion I never questioned now made my skin crawl with revulsion.
The next morning, I signed myself out of the hospital against medical advice. I left my wedding ring and the signed divorce papers on the entryway table, blocked his number, and walked out of our house without looking back.
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Chapter 2
Katerina POV:
Julian came back late, the smell of the cold night air clinging to his expensive coat. He was carrying a takeout container, a smile on his face that was meant to look gentle, apologetic.
"I brought you something," he said, his voice soft. "Seafood chowder. Your favorite."
My stomach churned. On the security feed, I'd watched his daughter, Sofia, take one spoonful of that same chowder and spit it out, whining that it was "yucky." I'd heard Julian laugh and say, "Don't worry, princess. We'll take it for the dog."
I was the dog.
Revulsion, hot and violent, washed over me, so powerful it felt like a physical blow. I scrambled out of bed, my bare feet slapping against the cold linoleum, and barely made it to the bathroom before I was on my knees, vomiting until there was nothing left but dry, heaving sobs.
I collapsed against the cool tile, my body trembling.
"Kat?" Julian's voice came from the other side of the door, laced with a well-rehearsed anxiety. "Are you okay? What happened?"
His concern was a performance, and I was the unwilling audience.
The shock of it-the heartbreak, the sheer, crushing weight of his betrayal-sent my system into free fall. A fever ignited, hot and fast. Within the hour, the world was a blur of sterile lights and frantic motion as I was rushed back to the hospital, Julian at my side, playing the part of the frantic, devoted husband.
I drifted in and out of a feverish sleep. In the dead of night, I woke to the sound of hushed voices. Julian and his cousin, Dr. Brennen Fuller, stood in the dim light of the hallway. I kept my eyes closed, my breathing even, and listened.
"She's critical," Brennen said, his voice tight. "This fever... she might not last a month, Julian. We need to move on the transplant."
There was a pause. Then Julian's voice, cold and resolute. "Give the liver to Ava's mother. We'll tell Kat the donor family backed out at the last minute. That there was a complication."
He was going to let me die.
Brennen sounded incredulous. "Are you insane? This is Katerina Volkov. You owe your entire life to her family. This isn't just disloyal, it's suicidal. The Bratva will bury you for this."
"I've done enough," Julian bit back, his voice thick with a bitterness I'd never heard before. "I've spent three years by her side. Three years of my life waiting for her to get better, or to die. She couldn't even give me an heir."
The words weren't a punch to the gut. They were a scalpel, carving out the quiet shame and grief I held over my own body's failings. My inability to have a child was just another mark against me in his ledger.
He came back into the room a few moments later, a shadow in the dark. He thought I was asleep. He reached out and gently caressed my cheek, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
His touch felt like a brand, searing his betrayal into my skin.