Wife of a Ruthless Mafia Boss

"Perfect!" Azy, my manager, shouted enthusiastically as the shoot ended.

I walked towards the dressing room and sat tiredly in front of the vanity mirror. My three PAs immediately approached to touch up my makeup—powder here, lipstick there. A typical scene for me as a model.

"Oh my gosh! You're the definition of perfection, Jazzie," Azy said, standing behind me.

I winced and shook my head. If only you knew.

"Gorgeous, sexy, rich—traits admired by most men," he continued, pointing at me.

I rolled my eyes at him in the mirror and let out a deep breath. "Stop it, Azy. You know how much I hate that," I muttered, referring to the compliments.

He rolled his eyes at me and flipped his imaginary long hair. "My God, Jazzie! I don't know if you're just being humble or if you hate the truth. If I had your face and body, I wouldn't just flaunt it on the catwalk—I’d do it in the kitchen, living room, even the restroom!" he laughed.

"You're pure nonsense, Azy Angelo," I muttered.

Quickly, his expression changed. "Oh my gosh! My ear, oh my gosh!" he joked, covering his ear with his fingers.

I laughed lightly and picked up my phone, which was glowing on the vanity.

My face turned emotionless when I saw the name on the screen. I lazily swiped to answer and held the phone to my ear.

"Are you done?" a cold, baritone voice asked.

"Yeah," I simply answered, signaling my PAs to stop.

They moved away and let me pack up my things.

"Jaime will pick you up," the voice said before the line went dead.

I took a deep breath and slipped my phone into my bag. "Do I have anything scheduled this week?" I asked, looking at Azy in the mirror.

He pouted. "You have a project in Paris, but obviously, it seems like you don’t want to take on international shoots," he said, sounding sulky and displeased.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to.

"You’ve had so many offers abroad, but you keep turning them down. You’re losing opportunities, Jazzie," he reminded me.

I forced a smile and zipped up my bag. Walking over to him, I gently touched his shoulder.

"I’m really fine here in the Philippines, Azy."

He stared at me, then sighed. "If that's your decision, I can’t do anything about it. Your schedule this week is clear, as you requested."

I grimaced and thanked him before saying goodbye. As I exited the building, five bodyguards immediately surrounded me. A few cameras flashed as I walked towards the car sent by the person I had spoken to earlier.

I was shocked when I saw an unexpected person in the backseat. Clearing my throat, I composed myself and sat beside him.

"You really like cameras, huh?" the man beside me said.

I resisted rolling my eyes and looked out the window, watching the three paparazzi who had been following me earlier. They couldn't see us now—the car windows were tinted.

"I'm a model, Valjerome. It's natural," I replied.

As if you didn’t know how much I wanted to be a model back then.

Or maybe... you just forgot.

He didn’t respond, signaling his driver to start the car. I could feel him leaning back in his seat. I didn’t bother looking at him, feeling exhausted after two hours in front of the camera.

I was about to close my eyes and rest when he spoke again.

"You got an offer in Paris?" he asked coldly.

I sighed and turned to face him. He met my gaze instantly.

I wasn’t surprised he knew. With his connections, nothing is a secret. I would’ve been shocked if he didn’t know about the offers.

"Don't worry, I turned it down," I said bitterly.

"Good," he replied, leaning back in his seat.

I shook my head and closed my eyes, drifting off to sleep.

"Just stay here. You’re not leaving. You’re not going anywhere," I heard him whisper before I fell asleep.

"MA'AM."

I woke up to a gentle pat on my shoulder. Looking around, I realized I was in my room at my husband’s house.

That’s right—I’m married to the man I was with earlier, Valjerome.

I smiled a little at Manang Fe, the mansion’s caretaker, and slowly got up.

"What time is it, Manang?" I asked politely as I adjusted my robe.

I blushed at the thought of Valjerome dressing me again. That jerk!

"It’s ten o’clock in the evening, hija. Sir Valjerome asked me to wake you for dinner," Manang said.

"Is he still here?" I asked.

We lived in the same house, but we slept separately—his decision, of course.

"Yes, he’s in his room with—" She stopped, bowing her head.

I sighed and gently patted her shoulder, forcing a smile.

"It’s okay, Manang. I’m used to it, so you don’t have to keep it a secret," I reassured her.

She looked at me with pity. "Why don’t you just leave him, hija?" she asked.

I averted my gaze. "Maybe because I love him," I said, looking back at her. Her pity deepened. "I can still handle it."

Manang Fe sighed and hugged me. "I hope your patience pays off," she said softly.

Impossible, but I hope so.

"You go ahead. I’ll follow," I said, and we parted ways.

As I fixed myself in the mirror, I noticed my makeup had been removed. I shrugged it off, assuming Manang had wiped it off—Valjerome wouldn’t know to do that.

All he ever does is change my clothes.

Once I finished, I left my room. I paused as I passed Valjerome's room. A bitter smile crossed my face when I heard soft moans coming from inside.

It wasn’t new, but it still hurt. Two years of marriage, two years of enduring him bringing other women into the mansion. Two years of wondering why this was happening to us, and what mistake I had made. But the answers never came.

I was snapped back to reality when the door suddenly opened. Valjerome stood there, staring at me seriously, wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

I quickly looked away and continued walking. Before I got far, I heard him call his men and order them to get rid of the woman he had slept with.

I laughed softly as I walked downstairs. It wasn’t new to hear him give such orders. He was a mafia boss, after all—a ruthless one. And I, Jazzie Zamora, am his wife.

I sat on the kitchen chair, silently scooping up my food, surrounded by six maids, waiting for whatever I might order them to fetch.

While chewing, I couldn’t help but keep an eye on my husband’s scattered armed personnel. I let out a small smile and gently shook my head.

Like I said, this isn’t new to me. Valjerome is the boss of a mafia group, so he has plenty of staff here in the mansion—both protectors and killers.

"Be ready."

My husband’s voice caught my attention. I turned to him and saw him walking seriously toward me. He was now dressed in a white V-neck shirt and faded denim pants. I still wanted to laugh, watching him act like he hasn’t done anything wrong to me.

I continued eating. "For what?" I asked lazily.

He sat down in the chair next to me and began filling his plate. "It’s my parents' anniversary. There will be a masquerade ball, and they want us to be there," he said formally, starting to eat.

I just nodded and quietly followed him. This is how it is when we’re together. We seem like strangers, even though we’re married.

"I’ll send to your room what you’re going to wear." Valjerome looked at me as he wiped his lips.

I nodded slightly and drank some water. He was about to stand up when I lazily leaned back in my chair and spoke.

"Are we going to pretend to be that lovey-dovey couple again?" I asked sarcastically.

I saw his jaw clench as he looked at me. "We’re leaving at 11 p.m.," he said, ignoring my question, then left me alone in the kitchen.

Yeah, they’re like that—celebrating at midnight.

I faked a laugh and shook my head. "I wish there were always a party," I whispered to myself, thinking it’s the only time he treats me nicely.

Wearing a gold backless dress with a plunging neckline paired with silver stilettos, I confidently walked down the stairs. Valjerome was waiting at the bottom, staring at me intently. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was mesmerized by my presence.

I cleared my throat when I reached him, averting my eyes as awkwardness filled the air.

"Let’s go," I said in a steady voice. I was about to walk past him when he gently took hold of my arm.

I glanced at him. He was staring at me as if memorizing every detail of my face. I held my breath as he slowly approached, pulling a few strands of hair from my neck. I stiffened as he leaned in closer.

What is he doing?

I couldn’t help but close my eyes when I felt his breath on my neck. A shiver ran through me, causing goosebumps. I only opened my eyes when I felt something cool above my chest—a necklace.

I blinked in disbelief, staring at it. Valjerome stepped back, his expression emotionless.

"W-What’s this?"

He frowned, glancing at the necklace he had just put on me. "You don’t know what that is?" he asked sarcastically.

The nervousness and awkwardness I had felt earlier faded. I rolled my eyes at him, staring again at the necklace.

"Thanks," I said simply, despite the swirl of thoughts in my mind.

It was just a simple diamond infinity necklace, but it meant a lot to me.

This was the first time he had bought something for me in all the years we’d been married. He usually just deposited money into my account and let me buy whatever I wanted.

"Erase that smile. Don’t misunderstand. I bought it to grab attention and make it look like I give you gifts as my wife. Let’s go."

The smile I had before faded quickly after hearing his words. I watched him walk out of the mansion. I laughed to myself, holding back the tears.

"Yeah, right, Jazzie. What do you expect from your ruthless husband?" I murmured to myself and followed him after composing myself.

We had a quiet ride in his limousine. Both of us stared out the windows, not bothering to interact.

"Don’t stray from me when we get there," he said coldly, still looking out the window.

"Okay," I replied instantly, leaning back into my seat.

I was still tired, but I had to do this for his parents. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of how kind they were to me. I’m an orphan—my parents died in a car accident. Valjerome’s parents adopted me, fed me, clothed me, and gave me an education. I’m fully aware of their organization, but I can’t see it as bad when they were the ones who saved me and gave my life direction.

We arrived at the event hall after a few minutes. I put on my gold mask, covering only half of my face, before stepping out of the car. Valjerome did the same, and we walked in together. His right hand wrapped around my waist possessively, as if showing everyone I was his. Though our faces were mostly hidden, we still caught the audience's attention—probably due to the strong presence he always carried.

From the VIP seats, Valjerome’s parents quickly stood to greet us, especially his mother.

"Hija!" she called joyfully, kissing me on the cheek, not even glancing at her son beside me.

"Happy anniversary, Mom," I said warmly, smiling at her.

"Thank you! You look so sexy and gorgeous, hija. No wonder the men are staring," she teased.

I joined in her laughter, though I could feel my husband’s dark aura.

"Dyrhaia, why don’t you let them sit so they can eat?" Valjerome’s father suggested, nodding kindly at me.

I bowed slightly out of respect and smiled.

"Why were you so late? I thought you weren’t coming," Mom said to Valjerome.

He chuckled and kissed her cheek. "Sorry, Mom. I let my wife rest. She just finished a photoshoot earlier," he explained calmly, tightening his grip on my waist.

I tried hard not to roll my eyes.

"We’re not too late, though. We just missed your speech," he added, teasing her.

Every time we’re with his parents, I see this side of him, yet I’m still caught off guard by his smile.

"Alright. Sit and eat," Valjerome’s father invited.

We sat down, nibbling on light snacks while talking about our lives as a married couple. As usual, his parents asked how we were doing.

"When will you give us a grandson, hija?" Valjerome’s father asked, smiling curiously. I choked on my drink.

Valjerome quickly handed me water and gently patted my back.

"Are you okay, hija?" Mom asked worriedly.

I nodded and smiled. "I’m fine."

"Oh, Civor, you’re startling the kids," Mom scolded her husband.

Valjerome and I exchanged glances. I didn’t know his reaction, but I knew he was watching me.

"They’ve been married for more than two years, dear. It’s time they gave us a grandchild," Dad teased.

I blushed.

"Next month."

We both looked at Valjerome in surprise.

I raised an eyebrow.

What is he talking about?

I was caught off guard when he suddenly pulled me in for a deep kiss. My heart raced as his lips touched mine—it was overwhelming.

He broke the kiss and looked around sharply before sitting back down. "Expect your grandson next month," he whispered, as if it were a simple thing, then scooped up his dessert.

My mouth hung open in disbelief. My face flushed even more.

Oh God! Tell me he was just acting.