Mafia’s Hidden Flame

Avery’s legs pumped furiously against the pedals, her breath clouding in the crisp night air.The scent of greasy pizza clung to her clothes, lingering like a memory of a life she was barely holding onto.The streets of the neighborhood were dead silent, too quiet for comfort. She hated silence—it reminded her of waiting for things she never asked for.The bike suddenly stuttered and choked.“Not now… come on!” she hissed, slamming a fist against the handlebars.Dead. Again.Her boots scraped the asphalt as she dismounted, muttering curses under her breath. She had fixed this hunk of junk yesterday—personally. Same chain, same issue.Life had a way of falling apart just when you thought you had a grip on it.Avery yanked off her helmet, letting her choppy, short hair fall messily around her face. The night was cold, streetlights flickering above like dying stars.She tucked her hands into her leather jacket and began walking, just a few blocks from home. Her boots echoed loudly in the

Without giving them time to argue, she left. Avery blinked. "What’s with her? So grumpy." "She’s been close to Sergei for years. That pride? It’s thick," Lisa muttered, rubbing her face. Avery threw a pillow at her. "Look at this bump on my head. Your fault." Lisa grinned. "Still pretty with it." "You little—" Avery growled, chasing her around the room.Later, following the headmaid’s instructions, they arrived at Velena Couture — a high-end boutique owned by the Kuznetsovs. From the gold-plated entrance to the rows of designer gowns, the place screamed money and power.Inside, several women — clearly other wives — turned to look. Whispers followed. "Isn’t that the new wife?" "Yeah... She looks full of herself," sneered a blonde, loud enough to be heard. "I already hate her."Avery heard. Lisa did too, grabbing her arm to prevent a scene. Hands in her pockets, Avery scoffed. "Some bitches don’t know when to shut up."The blonde’s face darkened as she marched over. "Excuse me? Did you j

As Lisa was yanked backward, her head slammed into something hard. Her world went black.When she woke, the air was cold — thick with the scent of sweat and smoke. The room was dim, lit only by a single flickering bulb overhead. Shadows stretched across the concrete walls. She blinked slowly, disoriented.Several tall, broad-shouldered men stood before her, tattooed and built like killers. Their eyes gleamed with something… unkind.Her breath caught in her throat.Who are they? she thought, heart hammering. What did I do?Then a familiar voice broke the silence — smooth, venomous, female.“Oh, look. Sleeping beauty’s awake.”Lisa’s head turned shakily toward the voice.It was the blonde wife. Anya Kuznetsov. Sergei’s fifth wife — beautiful, cruel, and unhinged.Anya stepped into the light with a glass of red wine in one hand, her wrist wrapped tightly in bandages.“Here's the Korean whore,” she sneered. “You were with that bitch Avery the other day, weren’t you? She broke my wrist,” sh

Lisa couldn’t find the words when he asked.Ivan stood up, letting the book in his hand drop to the floor as he stepped toward her. "You heard it, right?" he asked, voice low."Heard what? I didn’t hear a thing," Lisa replied too fast, her face reddening.“Little bunny is lying,” he frowned, now towering over her smaller frame. “Then why did you trash my coat?”“I thought you didn’t need it anymore,” she muttered quickly, avoid his gaze. “And I didn’t hear a thing.”Ivan crouched slightly, smirking. “You heard moans, didn’t you? Slutty ones.”Lisa’s face flushed deeper. She slapped her hands over her ears. “I didn’t hear anything—nothing!”“But your face says otherwise.” Ivan tilted his head. “I wasn’t there. I saw you leaving my chamber. You heard it, didn’t you? One of the bitches was probably playing with herself.”Lisa looked up, shocked. She’d misunderstood, but still, he was Ivan—the shameless playboy.“How did you even enter my room? I locked it when I left.”Ivan gave a lazy gr

Lisa was still rifling through her closet, clothes flying over her shoulder one after the other. “Ugh,” she muttered. “Too long. Too plain. Too… bleh.” Nothing felt right. Nothing looked like her. Every dress seemed either outdated or designed to make her feel like a grandmother. She sat on the edge of the bed, frustrated and glaring at the mountain of rejects.A knock at the door startled her. Lisa stood up and opened it to find a maid standing there with a small, beautifully wrapped package.“You got a package, Miss. From Sir Ivan,” the maid said politely.Lisa blinked. “From… Ivan?”She took it slowly, her brows lifting with curiosity. Once the maid left, she sat down and peeled it open.Inside was a neatly folded pink dress—soft, delicate, and stylish. The fabric shimmered subtly, trimmed with lace at the sleeves and hem. Baby-pink bows were stitched into the design, and there was a handwritten note tucked inside:For my little bunny. Don’t keep me waiting. —IvanLisa couldn’t help