The Mafia Boss's Regret She Died to Leave Him

One second before saying "I do," I made my choice—to save my kidnapped mother.

I halted the ceremony and demanded five million dollars as security for our future together.

Sergey signed the check without blinking.

But as he slid the family ring onto my finger, he sneered, "Quite the price tag you've put on yourself."

From that day on, he flaunted other women in front of his crew, encouraging his men to mock me as nothing but a high-priced whore.

On our third anniversary, an old wound—from the knife I took for him—flared up. I couldn't even afford a single painkiller.

Meanwhile, he threw money around to make his new plaything smile.

With just ten dollars to my name, I texted him: "Sergey, I want a divorce."

His reply came quickly. I could almost see him smirking, arm draped around my former best friend:

"How much is it going to cost me this time?"

At the pharmacy counter, I heard Anna's sultry laugh through the phone:

"Baby, she's just jealous. I mean, you did give me that Ferrari yesterday…"

Sergey's voice hardened:

"Some women only understand the language of money."

Something inside me shattered for good.

When my mother was dying, I begged for his help. But he believed his mother's lies instead—convinced I was running some sick scam for cash.

"You'd even use your own mother's illness to con me out of money."

"Christ, Sophia. Even hookers have more integrity than you."

The line went dead. I stood there, numb.

The pharmacist's sharp voice yanked me back to reality.

She tossed the painkillers back onto the shelf with a scowl.

"No money, no meds. This ain't a soup kitchen, lady."

I gripped my crumpled ten-dollar bill, doubling over as pain knifed through my stomach. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead.

"Please… I'm only four dollars short. Take my coat as collateral."

I shrugged off my threadbare jacket, holding it out with trembling hands.

The clerk barely glanced at it before wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"That rag? Not even the homeless would take it. Now beat it—you're scaring off paying customers."

She shoved me out the door. I stumbled and fell hard onto the cold sidewalk.

When I looked up, a massive LED billboard loomed overhead.

There was Sergey, cradling Anna on his gleaming yacht.

He dangled a sapphire necklace before her, his eyes burning with desire.

The headline blazed across the screen:

CRIME LORD DROPS MILLIONS TO SEE GIRLFRIEND SMILE

Pedestrians stopped to gawk, their envious murmurs washing over me.

"Damn, now that's true love."

"I heard his actual wife is some gold-digging bitch who stole him from her best friend. Greedy as hell, too."

"Women like that deserve whatever they get."

My ears rang. The world blurred around me.

I pulled out my ancient phone, screen spiderwebbed with cracks, and dialed his number one more time.

He answered.

Ocean waves and violin music floated through the speaker.

"Still don't get it, do you?" Sergey's voice dripped with irritation at being interrupted.

"Sergey, I want a divorce."

I fought to keep my voice steady.

Two seconds of silence. Then a soft, cruel laugh.

"Jesus, Sophia. This routine of yours is getting old."

"What is it now? Jealous of Anna's new necklace?"

"If you want cash, just say it. That's all you've ever opened your legs for anyway."

Each word stabbed like a poisoned needle, spreading venom through my veins.

I took a shaky breath, but before I could speak, Anna's voice cut in.

"Don't be so harsh, baby."

"She is still your wife… and my old friend. Hey, I don't even want this necklace anymore. Why not let her have it? She can pawn it."

Sergey's voice hardened.

"Give it to her? Would you really wear something that's touched her filthy skin?"

Tears burned my eyes. I tilted my head back, refusing to let them fall.

Three years ago, it was the same story.

I showed him my mother's hospital report. He threw cash in my face.

"How many times will you use your mother as a prop in your little scams?"

"My mother checked. Yours is fine—playing cards at the nursing home as we speak."

He never knew it was all staged by his mother—her revenge for me ruining her arranged marriage plans.

My real mother lay in the ICU, tangled in tubes, desperately needing that five million for treatment.

I closed my eyes, my voice hollow with defeat.

"I don't want your money. I just want out."

"Sergey, please… just let me go. I'll disappear from your life for good."

I heard the click of his lighter, followed by a deep inhale of cigar smoke.

When he spoke again, his voice had turned to ice.

"You want out?"

"Not impossible."

"Return the five million you extorted on our wedding day. With interest."

"Short by even a penny, and you'll never escape my reach."

"You know what I'm capable of, Sophia. Don't make me sell you to the brothels to work off your debt."

The line went dead with a click.

I clutched my overheated phone, shivering in the bitter wind.

Five million dollars.

I couldn't even scrape together twenty bucks.

The hospital had just texted their final warning—pay up or they'd cut off Mom's treatment.

I stared up at Sergey's face on the billboard. Whatever love I'd still harbored crumbled to ash.