[ENGLISH] Wife Of A Ruthless Mafia Boss

Jazzie Zamora is a well-known model in the Philippines. She's rich, beautiful, elegant and has many other qualities that you will admire.

Everyone believes that she has a perfect life, but little did they know that it was the other way around.

Hellish; it's the exact word you can use to describe her life. Being a secret wife of a mafia boss was a dream that turned into a nightmare.

Despite of all those shits happening, will she still choose to stay?

How much can she put up for her ruthless husband?

"Perfect!" Azy, my manager, shouted enthusiastically when the shoot has ended.

I walked towards the dressing room and tiredly sat in front of a vanity mirror, my three PA’s immediately approached me to put some retouch ¾powder here, lipstick there, a typical scene for me as a model.

"Oh my gosh! You're really a definition of perfection, Jazzie," Azy said while standing behind me.

I winced and simply shook my head. I wish if you only know.

"Gorgeous, sexy, rich and other traits that are truly admired by most of the men," he continued while still pointing at my whole being.

I rolled my eyes at him on the mirror and let out a deep breath. "Stop it, Azy. You knew 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 that on the catwalk, but also at the kitchen, living room or even at the restroom," he said along with his laughter.

"You're pure nonsense, Azy Angelo," I muttered.

Quickly, his face changed then. "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 that was currently glowing over 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 signalled 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 on the mirror.

He pouted. "You actually have a project in Paris, but obviously, it seems like you don't want to receive an international photo shoot," he sounded sulky and displeased.

It was not that I do not like it.

"You have so many offers abroad, but you do not want to accept any of them. You are losing so much opportunity, Jazzie," he reminded me.

I