Mr Criminal Wife Novels & Stories

She wasn’t going to leave this room until I had answers. I studied her closely. For two years, I’d given her a black card—a limitless resource she never used. Not once had there been a charge, a withdrawal, nothing. She was a stay-at-home wife, with no visible income of her own. And now, she shows up with $10 million in cash?

she opened her arms, I drew a bit closer and hugged her. “You know,” She disengaged from the hug, “I'm not trying to convince you or anything, but the truth is, in this World, all the Men project ruthlessness and power, but amidst them, I've seen Good men, and trust me, Vincenzo is one them, it may sound like I'm lying but I've worked in this family for years, and I won't lie to you,” Mrs Maria said.

"She was desperate. Alone. She thought she was protecting me from something... or someone. I don’t know." What reasons, boss?" Dave snapped, his voice rising like a whip cracking through silence. "Like, what reasons would make a wife blackmail her own husband? Just what damn reasons?" His eyes were wide, disbelief painted across his face like betrayal had hit him personally. The fluorescent light above us flickered faintly, casting shadows that made everything feel more surreal. I clenched my fists. My chest burned. My throat was dry. Dave wasn’t finished. His voice turned cold. "She's a criminal. And she needs to go to jail."

Oh, this was going to be fun. I turned to Raphael, mischief curling at my lips. “Tell me, husband,” I mused, leaning forward. “How exactly should a Mafia wife address her loving spouse in public?” His eyes darkened yet again. Mira immediately hid her face behind a napkin. Madame Elara let out a long, suffering sigh. Raphael? He smirked. “Oh, little rabbit,” he murmured. “You’re about to find out.”

After a moment, she called again, "Honey, the washing machine is broken. Can you take a look at it?" When I didn't respond right away, she came in, clearly annoyed. "Marcus Lomas. I've been calling for you. Why are you ignoring me?" My mind was still processing what had happened. I couldn't believe my wife had tried to kill me just to be with another man. Felicia noticed my dazed state and quickly put on a concerned expression, reaching out to feel my forehead. I recoiled from her touch, my body shaking. She didn't seem to mind though and handed me a toolkit and the same black-handled screwdriver from before.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. If a mafia wife’s ‘role’ is gagging on silence while her man bangs half the city and buries the other half, then sign me up for single life...I’ll fuck who I want, when I want, and actually come screaming." Everyone was shocked at her outbursts but I knew she wasn't done with them " You bitches are just jealous. Ciara’s young, hot as hell, locking down a real boss like Jasper who crushes skulls for breakfast. What do your husbands crush? Their sad little dicks trying to last five minutes? Go inject more poison in your faces...maybe it’ll fix the bitterness from never getting properly railed.” The women flushed ugly red, mouths gaping like fish drowning in air. A few me

Without speaking, he approached the desk, placed the folder down on top of the scattered photographs, and gave a curt nod. “All the information you requested, Ms. Mila.” His tone was flat, professional. Mila leaned forward, her fingers already twitching to open the folder. “And? What did you find?” The investigator adjusted his glasses. “Everything is there. Marriage records. Private photos. Dates. Places. She isn’t just a fling, Ms. Mila. She’s his wife.” The word hit Mila like a physical blow. Wife. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Her perfectly rehearsed composure fractured, and she laughed—a sharp, disbelieving sound that filled the room like broken glass.

She paused, then continued, "When I was in Marinova, I heard the wealthy ladies there talk about Mr. Miller's mysterious wife. He dotes on her and protects her so well that no one ever comes to know her identity. "Not just the general public, even many business partners have never seen her face. They say all her clothes and jewelry are personally delivered by top international brands, or she has private fittings at home with runway models brought in. There's no way she would appear in a place like this mall." As expected, the two police officers' expressions darkened with suspicion after hearing this. A top-tier, heavily protected billionaire's wife would never appear alone in a shopping mal

He tries looking down to see if my hand is going to move. "Are you telling me that my wife is a sex slave to the Kingpin's wife?" I make a disgusted face. "Yes, but you need to know...Mrs. Moretti is a lot sicker than her husband." I add pressure to the knife, "Tell me what you know!" "All right, all right! After he offered five hundred grand for Aria, both he and his wife came to give me instructions on how to prepare her." "What the fuck do you mean, prepare her?" A little more pressure, and he squeals like a pig before continuing.

My roommate, John Swift, asked in shock, “Pete, are you throwing that away? I thought you cherished that photo a lot.” I shook my head and cut Bella out of the family portrait. I tore it into pieces. John seemed to understand. “Pete, is your wife alive?” I pulled out my phone. Someone had sent me a text two weeks ago. [Bella’s still alive.] There was a photo attached to the message. It was a selfie of Bella and Carlson. Two weeks ago, I found out that my wife, who had supposedly been dead for five years, was still alive. When I first found out the news, I could not even sleep.