Mafia Billionaire’s Forlorn Wife
Chapter 13

Aurelia Mikhailov was a woman of high standards and higher ambitions. She and my father had an arranged marriage and it had been a f*****g disaster growing up. Which is also one of the reasons why I never included her in the matters of my life whatsoever.

She was an opportunistic woman waiting in the shadows to lash out at me at the first chance she got.

No one had been happier than her when my father was killed and I became the leader of the mafia. Back then, I didn’t know what a vile woman she was, but with every day that passed with me being the head of the Bratva, she grew more and more confident of her position in my kingdom.

There was a time when I respected her tact and her way of thinking, but soon, I came to realise that she is just a selfish woman who only ever cared about herself. And as much as my father loved her, I don’t think that she was with him for any other reason except for the protection and luxury his name and status provided her.

“My my, I didn’t expect to see you both here, Rhys.” My mother coos, ever the diplomat as she shares knowing glances with her posse of friends, “these newly weds cannot keep their hands to themselves, can they?” She says and the three women standing by her side break into nauseating giggles.

Arabella stiffens beside me as she watches the exchange between the women, unable to decide what to do about this situation as she fidgets with her wedding ring.

“Mother, I didn’t know you were here.” I say clearing my throat, already thinking about ways to just take Arabella away from here because right now, the worst thing that could happen is both these women finding comfort in each other’s company.

My mother knows who Arabella is and she was rejoiced when she heard of our wedding, not giving a f**k that I had married the woman who’s father killed my own. My mother could not give two f***s about my father’s death— something that she had proven over and over again.

“Well, sweetheart, Paris is spring is truly a marvel, isn’t it?” I give her a tight lipped smile at that, nodding at her words as she elegantly turns to her friends, “ladies, it was a pleasure having you all over. We should plan the next luncheon at the Elarma, alright?” And taking that as their cue to leave, the women share hugs and air k****s with my mother before they wave in our direction and one by one, their chauffeurs take them away.

Now, it is just me, my wife, and my mother standing in front of the entrance of the house.

“Oh, how rude of me!” My mother exclaims, stepping to the side as she spreads her arm towards the giant double doors, “please, Arabella, come on in. It is the first time that I am meeting you, I have so much to talk to you about.”

Arabella smiles at that, nodding her head, she follows after my mother, and as I stand in my spot, I almost g***n while pacing myself for this entirely unpleasant evening that I am going to have to endure.

Once we are all comfortably seated in the living room of the mansion— all cream interiors and gold accents— one of the servants hands us our respective drinks, a bourbon for me and two glasses of wine for the women, as per their request.

Arabella’s eyes are taking in the interiors of the space, just like she checks out every other place she visits. Her keen eye for spectacular interior design does not let her ignore her surroundings and I know for a fact that right at this moment, her mind is flooded with all the things she could add or remove from this ball room styled living area to make it more appealing.

“It was all built in the late nineteen hundreds,” my mother chimes, noticing Arabella’s fascination and causing her eyes to finally return to our hostess, “if it were up to me then I would have had this place renovated years ago, but it was Rhys’ grandfather who designed this for his wife and so, Mr. Mikhailov never let anyone change a thing about this manor.”

Arabella looks even more intrigued as she meets my gaze, something knowing and coy flashes through her eyes as I lock my jaw tightly and look away.

“Ah, I see.” Arabella ponders, “it is truly beautiful, if I do say so in my professional capacity.”

My mother’s smile brightens further hearing that. To anyone else watching— to Arabella too— my mother would give off an impression of the perfectly poised hostess, a woman who belongs to the old money society of our world but still comes off grounded and kind. But to my eyes, I know that my mother is anything but grounded. All she cares about is her own status and power and on more than one occasion, she has proven that fact.

“I did hear that my daughter in law was opening an outlet of her brand in this city; I was hoping that I could get your professional opinion on a few of my other properties, now that I have my own in-house interior designer.” Arabella allowed the slight snideness in my mother’s tone to slide.

“Of course, I would be happy to assist. My company is still a homegrown, boutique brand, but I am certain that you will find my insights helpful.” She responds in a rehearsed manner, not once do her words reflect the fact that my mother had just been, in a way, condescending towards her.

Arabella sits with her legs crossed as the glass of wine hangs loosely from her hand, keeping her back straight as she and my mother converse about things that I could give not two f***s about.

I sit there in silence, watching these two women interact and noticing their similarities which only causes my hatred towards Arabella to grow.

The way they gauge the hidden meanings of each others words and the way they both use their rehearsed elegance and grace to respond with just the right words, all of it makes me want to puke my guts out.

It is as if I am watching a f*****g talk show where all the dialogues have been pre-decided and all the people have already been made aware of how they have to react.

There is nothing human or natural about either of the women and even though I should be glad that my wife has the exact qualities of how a Bratva’s wife should be like, in reality, no one could have been more disappointed than me.

Because this most definitely isn’t what Arabella is. This isn’t the way she needs to react. She isn’t the woman I met all those months ago.

The woman sitting beside me right now is Mancini’s daughter, and not the carefree goddess that took me to the adventure park on Long Island for our first date.

|Flashback|

“I can’t believe that you were screaming all through the ride!” Arabella gushes, her hair blowing slightly in the wind as I try to catch my breath with my back hunched over and my hands resting on my knees.

This woman is a f*****g disaster.

I met her at a club a week ago, we talked, and it was evident that we hit it off. But I couldn’t get her number and had to leave for New York the very next day. Yesterday, by a stroke of pure luck, I found her in one of the busiest, most exclusive restaurants in Manhattan, having what could only be classified as a business dinner.

And oh, how she looked so sinful and gorgeous wearing a formal black dress with her golden hair pressed neatly away from her face in a low ponytail. Her striking green eyes fell on me last night and then, I just couldn’t stop myself from seeking her out.

After spending most of our night together from that point, I finally dropped her at the Hilton, and to my surprise, she asked me out on a date.

Like clockwork, she picked me up from my townhouse in Manhattan’s Park Avenue before she took me all the way to the adventure park in Long Island and to say that I have never been more surprised by a girl before, would most definitely be an understatement.

“Those things are for torturing humans, Bella! I don’t understand how the f**k can you like it?” I complain, standing straight up once again but my chest still heaves as I shudder thinking of my last fifteen minutes on the blaster roller coaster.

Arabella’s laughter chimes around me, practically making my heart swoon in my chest as I watch her green eyes twinkling with joy, “you are such a baby, Rhys.” She says shaking her head just as a strand of her hair falls in her eye.

Before she can tuck it away, I stride forward and gently brush the hair strand out of her face, tucking it behind her ear as her breathing gets caught in her throat because of our proximity, “you don’t have to think of such clever means to call me nicknames, sweetheart. You can call me baby if you want to.” I murmur to her, all the thoughts about the blasted roller coaster are already forgotten as I find myself getting lost in her magical eyes.

She shivers slightly, and I don’t know whether it is from the intensity of my gaze or the weather, but somehow I doubt that she is cold— especially with the denim jacket that she is currently wearing. I smile internally at the effect I seem to be having on her.

After a few more seconds, I step back from her, looking away, giving my racing heart a f*****g rest before it explodes between my ribs by just being close to this goddess.

Arabella is so f*****g beautiful that it is difficult to look at her for more than a few minutes at a stretch. She is just perfect and I feel like a peasant who has been granted the once in a lifetime opportunity of being close to an actual goddess.

She meets my gaze again and the soft blush on her cheeks reddens further, making my entire body react to her beauty before her eyes fall on something else and instantly a bright grin takes over her angelic face.

“SNOW CONES!” My eyes widen as I turn my head towards where she is pointing, and true to her word, standing a few feet away from us is a vendor selling snow cones.

Like a child during her summer break, Arabella practically sprints towards the vendor and I follow after her, all the while thinking about just how crazy and absolutely adorable she is.

|End of Flashback|

Arabella meets my gaze in the middle of her words as she furrows her brows for a brief second before continuing the conversation with my mother with skilled perfection, ignoring whatever she just saw in my expressions.

Yeah, this is not the same woman I met back then.

She is a Mancini through and through. A highly trained one at that.

And had I not arrived in her life, she would have gladly married someone else who was offering her money and stability for a lifetime.

At least that is what she told her cousin just before our wedding, which only strengthened my resolve further about using her to get what I want.

Even the slightest amount of guilt that I was feeling for putting her through my actions is gone after seeing her speaking to my mother.

She is exactly like her. And she deserves everything that I am doing to her.