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.

Chapter 1

Katerina POV:

The man who swore to love me in sickness and in health just promised my only chance at survival to another woman.

I lay perfectly still, the starched sheets of the hospital bed a flimsy shield against a cold that had nothing to do with the room's temperature. It had settled deep in my bones. It wasn't the rare liver disease killing me anymore. It was the words drifting through the slightly ajar door.

Julian's voice, my husband's voice, was a low, urgent murmur. "She can wait. The doctors said she has three months left, maybe more. Ava's mother doesn't have that kind of time. I can't watch her lose her mom."

My breath caught in my throat, a dry, rattling sound. The black-market liver-the one secured through a life-debt owed to my family, the Volkov Bratva-wasn't for me.

It was for his mistress's mother.

A mistress. The word felt foreign, absurd. For three years, as my body waged a war against itself, Julian had been my rock. He'd held my hair back as I retched, spoon-fed me broth when I couldn't keep anything down, and whispered promises of our future into my ear as I drifted off to sleep. His devotion was the one thing I never questioned.

"And what about Sofia?" a woman's voice, soft and cloying. Ava. "She needs her grandmother."

"I know, honey," Julian soothed. "I'm handling it."

Sofia. They had a child. A four-year-old daughter. The numbers clicked into place with sickening precision. My illness had started three years ago. Their affair was older. Their family was established. I was the placeholder.

A moment later, I heard the faint,