Undercover Wife: Married to the Mafia boss.

**Katherine's pov**

My name is Katherine Sinclair, and my husband and I aren't in love. The truth is, we never have been.

Our marriage? Strictly business. No romance. No fairy tales. Just a contract signed in desperation.

Three years ago, my world began to crumble. My mother was rushed to the hospital with kidney failure.

I tried to be strong, hiding back years I didn't want anybody to see.

But inside, I was crumbling.

We had no money. No insurance. My father had died when I was five, and since then, it had always been just me and her. I was only twenty-one. Still in school. Working late-night shifts to pay rent. There was no one else to help. No family. No backup plan. Just me.

That day, I ran to the bank, heart pounding, hope clinging to me like a drowning woman. I begged for a loan. I offered anything I had. But all they saw was a broke girl with nothing to her name.

They turned me away.

I walked out into the street absentmindedly, the world around me crumbling. I didn't even notice I'd stepped into the road until a blaring horn snapped me out of it and a car screeched to a halt just inches from my legs.

Black. Sleek. Impossibly expensive. The kind of car I'd only seen in movies.

I froze. My heart was racing rapidly, but I couldn't move.

The back door opened.

And that's when I saw him.

He stepped out like he owned the world. Tailored suit. Cold eyes. There was something about him, something captivating.

He wore a tailored black suit.

He was tal; hiss jaw was shar,p with a straight nose and icy blue eyes.

His hair was jet black and was styled in a sleek back with a few strands falling upon his forehead.

The car door shut behind him with a loud thud snapping me out of my daze.

He walked toward me slowly, deliberately. My body tensed. I wanted to move, but I couldn't. My legs were trembling, though from fear.

"Do you want to get run over?" His voice was rough and irritated, and my vision slightly blurred from the tears that had gathered in my eyes. "No..."

He stopped just a few inches away from me, so close that I got a whiff of his expensive cologne.

My gaze remained on him, my hands trembling slightly.

His gaze lingered on me and I quickly dropped my head, shame creeping in.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, turning away in embarrassembarrassment. A had seen me like this. Eyes red from tears, shears, and fragile.

I turned away from him but before I could take a step, I felt the warmth of his hand around mine. It was gente ,ygentessive.

His thumb brushed against my skin, and I froze. He didn't let go.

"I didn't mean to get in your way..." My voice broke. I sniffled, and a tear rolled down my cheek. "I just-I didjustow what else to do."

He didn't speak right away. Instead, he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my face, tucking it carefully behind my ear. His touch was careful, almost hesitant. Then his fingers tilted my chin up, coaxing my eyes back to his.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly. There was something in his voice that made my chest ache. No pity. Not concerned. Just... presence. Someone who was there.

And for some reason, that made the words come.

"My mom's sick," I whispered. "Kidney failure. She's all I have left, and she's dying. The hospital bills are too high. I tried everything, the bank begged strangers- but they didn't care." My throat tightened. "No one cared."

He said nothing for a long time. His thumb was still resting on my hand.

Then, in a tone as steady as stone, he said, "Marry me."

I blinked. I must have heard wrong. "What?"

"Marry me," he repeated, repeated posing this kind of thing to a stranger wasn't insane. "A contract. You'll be my wife-public wife publicly; I'll cover everything. Your mother's bills. Your living costs. You'll be taken care of."

My heart stopped. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I need a wife," he said simply. "And you need a miracle."

---

Three years later, my mother's still in the hospital hospital. No, and even JoKess sometimes. She tells me to have faith, to believe that the universe is looking out for us. But I know better.

It wasn't the universe that saved her.

It was Alaric Blackwood.

The man I married.

The man whose last name I carry.

The man I barely know.

In public, we're the picture of elegance. I sit beside him at dinner parties and business galas, dressed in gowns that cost more than I used to make in a year. Sometimes, he rests his hand on mine for show. He's poiand te, poised. So am I. We smile. We nod. We fool everyone.

But when we come home, the illusion fades.

He disappears into his study. I retreat to my wing of the house-if youhouse. You'll it that. The place is beautiful, but it never feels warm. It's too perfect, too still. Like living inside a snow globe.

The rooms echo, and so does my loneliness.

He barely speaks to me. I don't know what time he wakes up, or if he sleeps at all. I don't know his favorite color. I don't know if he has nightmares. I don't know what makes him laugh-or if he even can.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm invisible. Other times, I hope I am.

There are nights I hear muffled voices behind his study door-angry ones, sometimes desperate. Once or twice, I swore I heard someone scream. Not loud. Not long. Just enough to send a chill down my spine.

But I never ask. What would I say?

Maybe he has lovers. Mistresses. Or maybe it's something darker. I don't know.

I walked into my room, dropped my purse onto the bed, and slipped off my heels with a quiet sigh. My feet were sore, and the soft carpet felt like relief. I tied my hair into a messy bun, strands sticking to my cheek. The black evening dress he'd left for me earlier hung over the edge of the bed-sleek, elegant, probably designer.

I didn't want to wear it.

I didn't want to go anywhere.

Then-knock knock knock.

Sharp. Impatient.

I flinched, startled, then crossed the room and opened the door."Elena," I said flatly as I beheld her before me.

She stood tall in a black blouse and blue skirt, her brown hair short and laid perfectly against her shoulders, every inch of her polished and perfect. She was Alaric's secretary, and she didn't like me. That much had always been clear.

She held out a file as if it were something dirty. Details for Mr. Blackwood's meeting. Study it."

Her voice was clipped. Her eyes held that usual condescension, the kind that said you don't belong here.

I took the folder with a quiet "Thank you."

She didn't reply-just spun around and walked away, her heels clicking down the hall.

I closed the door and exhaled slowly. My fingers clenched the file tighter than necessary as I walked back to the bed and opened it. Lines of corporate terms and names I barely recognized blurred together.

Then-buzz buzz.

My phone vibrated against the nightstand. I glanced at the screen.

No Caller ID.

Something about it made my stomach twist.

I answered hesitantly, pressing the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

"Katherine Sinclair."

The voice was low, warped by some kind of filter. Cold. Distorted.

I stiffened. "Who is this?"

"A friend... or an enemy," the voice said. "Depends on how well you cooperate."

My breath caught in my throat. I sat frozen, listening to the silence on the other end-until end until the end broke it.

A text.

"Check your phone," the voice added.

I slowly pulled the phone away from my ear, blinking at the screen.

A photo.

My mother, pale and fragile, was lying in her hospital bed. Tubes in her arms. Eyes closed. Still.

My breath hitched. No sound came out. Just a hollow ache crawling up my chest. My fingers trembled, and before I realized it, the file in my hand slipped to the floor. Papers fanned out in soft rustles. It all felt so far away-like away; in my body anymore.

I brought the phone back to my ear, barely able to steady it.

"W-What do you want with my mother?" My voice cracked. I was trying to be brave, but fear was winning.

"Nothing," the voice said, calm and cold. "I want you, Katherine."

My heart lurched.

Why me?

I didn't understand. I was no one-jusnotajustying to survive. Trying to keep her mother alive. I swallowed hard, fighting the panic clawing at my throat.

"I need you to complete a few tasks for me. Refuse, and your mother dies."

I closed my eyes, swaying. That sentence-isentenceopen.

He paused, letting silence press down like a weight. "Will you comply?"

I should've screamed. Demanded to know who he was. But all I could think about was my mom. How peaceful she looked in that photo. Too peaceful.

She might never wake up if I made the wrong choice.

"You have five seconds," the voice warned. "Five... four... three..."

"I'll comply!" I blurted, voice sharp with desperation. My lips quivered after the words left me.

A beat.

"Good," he said. "Go to the bookstore three streets from where you are. Fifth aisle. Beneath one of the shelves. You'll find a hidden book. Get it."

Before I could respond, a deafening gunshot rang through the speaker. I flinched so hard I nearly dropped the phone. My legs staggered backward.

"The next bullet goes into your mother's head if you're not there in ten minutes. Tick... tock, Katherine."

The line went dead.

My mind went blank. Numb. My hands were still shaking when I lowered the phone.

This isn't real.

But it was. My mother's life was dangling by a thread-and I was holding the scissors.

I forced my legs to move. Walk. No run.

I reached Alaric's room. For a split second, I stopped.

Should I tell him?

I looked at the closed door. At the silence behind it. He wouldn't care. Not really. I was just a responsibility to him-a contract he couldn't wait to be done with.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and kept running.

By the time I reached the bookstore, I was soaked in sweat and shaking. My lungs burned from the cold air. I stumbled inside, pushing past the scent of old paper and wooden shelves. It was quiet-eerily so.

I rushed to the fifth aisle, dropped to