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Mafia King’s Regret: Winning Rebellious Bride Back 115
Vera sat on the couch, watching Misha as he stacked his building blocks. The room was quiet except for the soft clink of wood and Misha’s humming. She let herself relax in that silence, pretending the world outside didn’t exist. Pretending she didn’t have to face anyone tonight.Her phone buzzed on the cushion. She glanced at it, hesitated, then answered.“Vera,” came the warm, teasing voice on the other end. “Are you ready? Can I come?”Her lips curved faintly, though she tried to keep her voice steady. “I’m not.... I just… don’t feel like going tonight.”“You mean the gala? Vera, come on. You worked too hard for this moment. People will want to meet you, hear from you.”“I’m fine here,” she said softly, watching Misha set another block on his tower.“Fine?” he chuckled. “You call sitting in a hotel room while everyone else is celebrating fine? That doesn’t sound like you. What’s the real reason?” She pressed her lips together. The real reason sat heavy in her chest, a shadow she cou
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The hall was grand, lined with banners and gleaming screens displaying intricate diagrams of the latest medical innovations. Rows of white-clothed tables held nameplates of world-renowned doctors and researchers, their quiet conversations blending into a low hum beneath the soft clinking of glasses and rustle of papers. Vera sat in the front row, her posture poised yet modest. She wore a tailored navy suit—professional, elegant, and understated. Her badge identified her as a lead surgeon representing her university, and though her expression remained calm, her heart raced with the weight of where she was.The conference host, a man whose name carried weight across continents, stood at the podium addressing the crowd with commanding ease. “Medicine,” he said, his voice resonating through the hall, “is not just science—it is the art of giving life back. Today, we discuss progress that will define the next decade.”A murmur of agreement swept through the audience. Vera’s eyes flicked to
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Vera parked the car at the entrance of the mansion. The gates stood open, and laughter carried from the porch. The moment she stepped out, Leila came running, arms wide. “Finally! We were waiting forever.” She hugged Vera tightly before pulling back to look at her. “You’re glowing, doctor.” Vera chuckled softly. “Glowing or exhausted?” “Both,” Dimitry teased as he appeared behind his wife, tall and relaxed. He bent to kiss Vera on the cheek. “Four whole days of peace. We’ll make it count.” “Where’s Viktor?” Vera asked. “Inside, pretending he’s not excited,” Leila whispered with a grin. They walked in together, and Vera’s steps slowed when she saw the man in the wheelchair. Her father—once so imposing—looked smaller now, but his eyes brightened the second they met hers. “Verochka,” he said, voice rough but warm. “You came.” Vera moved quickly to him and knelt, taking his hands. “Of course I did, Papa. Did you think I’d miss this?” His lips curved faintly. “Never.” He squeezed h
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FIVE YEARS LATER Vera placed the lunchbox inside the small backpack and zipped it shut. The kitchen smelled of pancakes, but she barely noticed. She turned when she heard small footsteps. “Mama.” Misha stood there in his pajamas, his hair sticking up in every direction, his eyes already full of excitement.Vera smiled, her heart softening. “Happy birthday, my boy.” She bent down, kissed his forehead, and hugged him tightly. He giggled, wiggling in her arms. She reached for the small package she had wrapped the night before and handed it to him.“Here. Open it.” Misha tore through the paper eagerly and pulled out a shiny mouth organ. His jaw dropped. “Mama! For me?” “Yes, for you.” She couldn’t help but laugh at the way his face lit up. He jumped into her arms again, squeezing her neck and planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Mama. And you belong to me.” The words hit her like a punch. For a moment, she froze. Roman’s voice flashed in her mind, saying those exact words ye
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The guards stepped back at her nod, their hands loosening the ropes from Roman’s wrists. Vera didn’t look at them her focus was only on him. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded document. She placed it on the table between them, and a pen rolled to the edge.“Sign it… and you’ll set me free,”Roman’s eyes dropped to the words—Divorce Agreement. The muscles in his jaw flexed, but he didn’t speak. His fingers, trembling from pain and exhaustion, reached for the pen. Vera’s breath caught as she watched him. She told herself this was what needed to be done—that this was mercy. And yet, her heart hammered against her ribs as if it knew she was lying to herself. He didn’t rush, as though the seconds before his signature were the last he could hold on to her.Then, with a sharp stroke, his name bled across the paper. Vera’s vision blurred. She stepped back, clutching her hands together so tightly her nails dug into her skin. Roman looked up at her, his gaze steady despite
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Roman’s eyes opened slowly, as if his lids weighed a hundred pounds each. His vision blurred at first, the shadows around him swimming into focus. His left eye was swollen shut, a dull throbbing radiating through his skull. His lower lip was split and bleeding, the metallic taste thick on his tongue. His wrists ached where the rope bit deep into raw skin, and his hands were tied so tight he could barely feel his fingers except for the searing sting where fingernails had been ripped out. Pain became another definition of his body, but not his thoughts. They were still hanging only for one word, one person- Vera His clothes hung in tatters, soaked in sweat, dirt, and blood. The sound came next—creak… The dungeon door swung open, and light from the corridor spilled across the floor. Roman’s head felt heavy, but he forced himself to turn toward it. His neck protested, every movement sharp, but he flicked his one good eye toward the sound. Viktor stepped in, his presence filling the space
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