Married the Mafia Boss Who Ruined Me Chapter 2

Evelyn’s POV

He smiled and patted the back of my head like I was a child. “You should go to hospital if you felt sick. babe.”

Then he turned to one of the maids, his voice hard. “Can’t you see Mrs. Graves is drunk? Bring her some lemonade.”

The maid nodded, hurriedly leaving the room. She returned shortly with a tray and extended it toward my way.

And then, in an instant, Eric pulled out his gun and shot her in the head.

The sound was deafening, followed by the sickening splatter of blood and brains across my face. The maid’s lifeless hand still reached out to me, the lemonade mixing with the blood that now stained my skin.

I couldn’t hold back my disgust. I wanted to vomit, to run, to scream.

Eric didn’t flinch. He wiped his gun clean with his sleeve and looked at me, as if nothing had happened. “She failed at her job, babe. She should’ve waited for my order before serving you that lemonade.”

I swallowed hard, the bile rising in my throat, but I forced myself to stay still.

Eric was a monster.

He wiped the blood from my face with a napkin, his touch disturbingly gentle. “You’re Mrs. Graves now. Don’t ever drink during the day again, alright? If anyone saw you like this, they’d think you’re an alcoholic. And Mrs. Graves can’t be an alcoholic.”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands, my whole body trembling with fear and revulsion.

“I understand now,” I whispered, the words slipping out as I fought to keep the storm inside me from consuming everything.

“Are you feeling sick, love?” Eric’s voice was soft, almost concerned, as he studied my face. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I haven’t slept well,” I lied, my voice barely above a whisper.

“How about you go lie down? We can head to our favorite resort tomorrow, just the two of us.” His tone was so smooth, so comforting—like nothing had ever happened.

One moment, he was a monster, and the next, the perfect gentleman. How had I been blind to this for so long?

“Sure,” I managed, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes.

Once in the bedroom, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I ran straight for the bathroom, throwing up as the memory of the maid’s brain exploding in front of me flashed through my mind. The blood, the way her hand still reached toward me...

I couldn’t shake the terrifying thought that one day, if I angered him enough, I might be next.

When the sickness finally subsided, I returned to the bedroom. Eric’s phone was sitting on the nightstand. He must have come in and forgotten it.

Without thinking, I grabbed the phone. A glance at the screensaver—a photo of her smiling as Eric spun her in his arms.

And the password, Isabella’s birthday.

I opened the messages, my heart hammering in my chest. Eric clearly hadn’t thought I’d ever look through his phone, so all the texts between him and Isabella were perfectly saved.

The most recent was from today: “How about a dinner together?”

I scrolled through them, each one a love letter from Eric.

Then I froze, my finger hovering over the screen, pausing on a message from Isabella.

“I thought you got shot during your that drug shipment to UK. How are you?”

Eric’s reply was chilling: “Evelyn took the bullet for me.”

“How heroic of her,” Isabella wrote. “You must be so touched by her move.”

“More like stunned. She couldn’t be more like an idiot.” Eric responded.

I blinked, a tear slipping down my cheek and landing on the phone’s screen.

Back when Eric was on that dangerous drug shipment to UK, I begged to go with him. I couldn’t bear the thought of being so far away away from him after he told me how dangerous that deal was gonna be.

He agreed. And the trip later indeed turned into a nightmare.

I was shot, and Eric was hit in the back.

He recovered quickly, but I didn’t. The bullet that hit me damaged my ovary, and now, I could never have children.

I had felt so ashamed for not being able to give him a child, for being broken.

Just as I was about to return the phone, my finger accidentally scrolled again, moving to the next message. Eric’s words hit me like a slap.

“I’ve loved you ever since you saved me in Mexico. That was heroic for me to save me after that gunfight. If it weren’t for you or your immediate removal surgery, I wouldn’t be alive today.”

Save him? Isabella had never touched a surgical knife in her life.

She was the nurse. I was the doctor.

And I was the one who had saved a man during a brutal gunfight back in Mexico. I performed a removal surgery even with a gun pressing to my head.

Not Isabella.

A crazy, horrifying thought surged through my mind.

Did I save Eric that day?

More terrifyingly, Isabella had lied to Eric that it was her who saved him?

My hands trembled as I put the phone back down.

…

After what felt like an eternity, I finally gathered myself together. I pulled out my phone, dialing a number that had been saved in my contacts for as long as I could remember.

“Do you still want to wipe Eric out of NYC?”

“What are you suggesting?” The voice on the other end was low, curious.

“Kidnap me in two days.” My gaze shifted to the photo on my nightstand—the one where I wore a wedding gown and Eric stood beside me, looking every bit the part of the perfect husband. “He’ll give you everything he has, willingly.”

I ended the call, just as Eric walked through the door. He had been drinking, and his steps were uneven, as if the alcohol had gotten the best of him. “Who are you calling?” His eyes narrowed, always sharp, always watching. “Better not be some man.”

I helped him to the bed, just like I always did. “Of course not. Just some guy who dialed the wrong number.”

He relaxed, leaning into my arms as if nothing had changed. “Good. Don’t ever talk to another man besides me.”

I tucked him in, then climbed into the bed beside him.

But sleep never came. I stayed awake all night, thoughts swirling with everything I had just learned and everything I was planning.

…

The next day, Eric and I were on our way to the resort he’d mentioned. He got a phone call halfway there and immediately canceled out trip. He said he was going sort out a problem at his casino—a few drunk men had caused trouble there.

“Please forgive me, babe. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. Here, use this card.” He handed me a black card, smooth and cold in my palm. “Buy whatever you want, babe.”

And just like that, he left.