The Mafia's Imposter Wife

My twin sister fell in love with my husband.

So, she and our family murdered me.

Now, she is wearing my face, sitting shyly on the edge of my bed, waiting for him to join her. My parents are probably praying right now, hoping she will give him a perfect marriage and a dozen heirs.

The bedroom door clicks open. My husband walks in. My sister flushes, stepping forward to undress him.

What she does not know is that the man standing in front of her is far more terrifying than she could ever be.

Chapter 1

I floated near the ceiling, watching my husband push the bedroom door open. His tactical gear was caked with dried blood. Two months away had only sharpened his dangerous edge.

My sister, Penelope Carmichael, nervously gripped the silk of her dress. Then, steeling her nerves, she stood up and glided toward him.

"Let me get you out of this gear, Alistair. I will draw a bath for you," her voice dropped into a soft, demure whisper.

Seven days ago, while I was taking my last breaths, she leaned over my bleeding body and smiled.

"Perry, I went through hell to alter my vocal cords. Do I sound exactly like you now?"

She did. Even a man as dangerously perceptive as Alistair could not tell that the wife standing in front of him was an imposter.

Alistair unbuckled his heavy Kevlar vest and spread his arms.

Penelope flushed a deep crimson. Her soft, pale hands reached out to undo his heavy tactical belt. She was never naturally pale. For two years, she lived on glutathione drips, avoided the sun like a vampire, and scrubbed her skin raw just to match my exact porcelain tone.

It was not just my voice and my skin. She had stolen my mannerisms, my posture, my very soul. She told me she spent two full years preparing for this exact moment. She told me she was not going to fail.

Alistair stared down at her. "You changed your perfume."

Penelope froze. Then, she forced a soft smile. "Yes. Do you like it?"

Alistair's brow furrowed. "It is overpowering. It lacks the subtlety of your old one. Change it back."

"Of course," Penelope quickly agreed.

Alistair turned and headed toward the master bathroom.

Penelope hurried after him, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. She had not been caught. She was ecstatic.

I did not want to follow them into the bathroom. I knew exactly what was about to happen. Alistair had been running the syndicate's enforcement wing since he was twelve. Thirteen years of blood, violence, and adrenaline left him with an insatiable, feral appetite behind closed doors.

I did not know if he had other women warming his bed during these two months away on syndicate business. But every time he came home from a long turf war, he tore into me with a brutal intensity I could barely survive.

He never showed mercy. He would just smirk, pinning my wrists down. "Your parents sold you to me to keep me entertained. You could at least try to put your back into it."

Later, my old nanny begged me to stop fighting him and just play along. Once I learned how to yield, how to arch into his touch, his violent edge softened into something a little less bruising.

The sickest joke of all?

Penelope was the one who was supposed to marry him.

But that year, Alistair returned to the city from a brutal cartel war down south. He rolled up to the syndicate headquarters, tossing five bloody, severed heads onto the hood of his matte-black SUV. He told the authorities it was just some random cartel hitmen he took out on the highway. But anyone with half a brain knew exactly who those heads belonged to.

They belonged to the heads of the five rival families who had ratted out the Blackwoods to the feds. Our family, the Carmichaels, was one of those five.

The Blackwood cartel was massacred because of that betrayal. Alistair was always going to extract his pound of flesh.

Terrified, the five families offered him millions in offshore accounts and their most breathtaking daughters to buy his mercy. Penelope was our family's offering. The undisputed beauty.

But she was terrified Alistair would torture her to death. She begged our parents on her knees not to send her into the monster's den.

They adored her. They could not bear to lose her. So, they dragged me out of the shadows and threw me to the wolves in her place.

They stole my life, and now they wanted my husband.

Penelope and I were twins. But the day we were born, a high-priced psychic took one look at us and claimed one of us would bring the Carmichael empire to ashes. Because I was the baby who did not cry when I was born, they slapped the label on me.

I was the curse.

Chapter 2

They tried to drown me in the estate pool when I was a baby.

My mother could not bear it. She held a gun to her own head until they pulled me out of the freezing water.

After that, I was banished to the darkest, most isolated guest house on the Carmichael property. Only my old nanny was allowed to care for me. To the rest of the world, the Carmichaels only had one precious daughter, Penelope. No one knew a second girl was fighting to survive in the shadows, growing up like a neglected weed in the dirt.

My family never even bothered to give me a name. My nanny was the one who named me Perry. She carried me into that cold house on a spring day. She said the pear trees in the courtyard were blooming beautifully, so she called me Perry.

Perry. Perish. It was a fitting prophecy for my tragically short life.

My soul drifted against my will, floating right into the master bathroom.

Alistair was already submerged in the massive soaking tub. Steam rolled through the air, clinging to the damp skin of his broad shoulders as he leaned against the dark marble. His torso was a canvas of jagged knife scars and raised bullet wounds.

Penelope caught sight of the brutal marks. Her eyes darted away, her breath hitching in visceral revulsion. She was genuinely afraid.

I found it almost funny.

She did not hesitate for a single second when she was murdering me, but a few old scars made her tremble.

I drifted closer, waving my translucent hand right in front of his face. I wanted him to look at Penelope and see the fraud wearing my face.

My actual body was currently buried deep in the dirt of the Carmichael gardens. Centipedes and beetles were already feeding on my flesh. If he could remember the three years we shared a bed and avenge me, I would be eternally grateful. If he did not care enough for revenge, digging my body up and burning it to ash would be enough.

I always loved the warmth. I did not want to rot in the cold, endless dark.

My corpse only had a few days before it rotted entirely.

But he did not sense a thing. He kept his eyes closed, his breathing slow and heavy.

Penelope steadied her nerves. She bit down on her glossy lower lip and reached for the hem of her dress, preparing to join him in the water.

Alistair's dark eyes snapped open. He stared dead at her.

"What is it, Alistair?" Penelope asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Alistair tilted his head. "I heard you took a trip back to the Carmichael estate while I was out of town."

Penelope immediately dropped to her knees on the cold tile. "Yes. My mother fell terribly ill. I went back for a few days to care for her. Please forgive me."

A violent, phantom spasm ripped through my chest. My throat closed up tight. The air vanished from my incorporeal lungs. My invisible fingers curled into fists so hard my nonexistent nails bit into my palms.

I just wanted to ask her why.

Why love me enough to save me, only to help slaughter me in the end?

Alistair watched Penelope grovel on the floor. "If your mother was sick, it is fine," he said, his tone devoid of its usual sharp edge.

I stared at him, completely stunned. Alistair never, ever spoke to me like that.

On our wedding night, he cornered me in this very room. He told me I was a peace offering bought and paid for by my parents. He told me I was his property. I was not allowed to have a self anymore.

My life belonged to him. My death belonged to him. I was nothing but a vessel to absorb his endless, violent rage.

He had gripped my jaw that night, his fingers bruising my skin. "You might look pathetic enough to draw pity, but do not expect a single drop of mercy from me."

He kept that promise. For three years, outside of our brutal encounters in bed, we barely spoke. He certainly never permitted me to visit my family.

"Thank you for your grace," Penelope whispered softly. She stood up, grabbed a plush washcloth, and stepped toward the tub to wash his back.

Before she could touch him, a heavy knock echoed from the bedroom door.

"Boss. The Syndicate Board is calling an emergency meeting," a guard shouted through the heavy oak.

"Understood," Alistair replied. He rose from the water without another word, grabbing a towel and striding out.

Penelope stomped her bare foot against the marble floor, glaring at his retreating back. The timing could not have been worse. She stormed back into the bedroom, her frustration quickly morphing into arrogant glee as she twirled in the center of the rug.

My former maid, Maisie, walked into the room carrying a tray of tea. "Congratulations. You completely fooled him," Maisie said with a sly smile.

Maisie was the maid my family sent over two years ago, right after the nanny who raised me passed away.

Chapter 3

I used to think my family sent Maisie out of love. Now I knew the truth. They sent her to study me. To prepare Penelope to take my place.

They had been planning my murder for two full years.

Penelope grabbed Maisie by the arm. "Smell me. What do I smell like?"

Maisie leaned in and sniffed carefully. "You smell exactly like Perry's signature pear blossom scent, miss. Nothing else."

Penelope frowned, her manicured nails digging into her palms. "Are you sure? Alistair was only near me for a second, but he instantly smelled my old oud perfume."

I did not understand it either. Alistair was never one to care about fragrances. How did he notice the difference so quickly?

"It is probably because your old perfume was just exceptionally strong, and the scent has not completely faded from your pores yet," Maisie offered. "A few more days of the pear blossom spray should cover it entirely."

"Makes sense." Penelope lit a few more pear-scented candles around the room. Then, she pulled out a small handmade voodoo doll and a needle.

She viciously drove the pin into the fabric. "May you rot in hell forever."

My name, Perry Carmichael, was scrawled across the doll's chest in black ink.

I stared at her. The occult shop psychic who sold her that hex must have been an absolute fraud. She stabbed the doll three more times, and I did not feel a single thing.

She kept twisting the needle, muttering at the stuffed fabric. "Do not feel too sorry for yourself, little sister. You got to sleep with him for three whole years. I looked at him just now.

He is built like a literal god. He is a million times better than that pathetic bookworm our parents found for me. Actually, no. He is better than any man breathing."

Once I married Alistair, Penelope could no longer live publicly as the Carmichael heiress. My parents sent her into hiding at a safe house. They even bought her a husband, a quiet academic named Simon, to keep up appearances.

I did not know what happened to Simon. Knowing my family, he was probably rotting in the dirt right next to me.

Penelope squeezed the voodoo doll's head tight. "You should be thanking me. Everything is just going back to its rightful owner."

She stopped eating. She stopped sleeping. She wanted him back with a manic, twisted desperation.

"Maisie," Penelope asked, her eyes narrowing. "How often did Alistair and Perry actually sleep together?"

Maisie kept her head bowed. "Unless he was out of town on syndicate business, he spent every single night in her bed."

Penelope shot the maid a venomous glare. "So what? Three years of him obsessing over her, and she never gave him a single heir. He was obviously just using her as a stress reliever."

She was right about one thing. Alistair made it crystal clear on our wedding night. He told me never to delude myself into thinking I could carry his child.

My throat went tight at the memory. I dry-swallowed birth control pills every single morning for three years. I did not want to bring a child into this world only for them to inherit my cursed, disposable fate.

The night dragged on. Alistair did not come back. Exhausted, Penelope finally crawled into my bed. She ordered Maisie to wake her the second he returned.

I floated out of the bedroom, drifting up to the roof of the estate. I stared out toward the city skyline, right at the towering high-rise belonging to the Supreme Boss. Word on the street was the old Don was dying. Alistair being summoned at an hour like this meant the old man was passing the crown.

Once Alistair took absolute control of the entire commission, I wondered if he would finally rain hell down on the Carmichaels. He had been biding his time for years, quietly sharpening his knives.

My family and the other four cartel heads actually believed handing over offshore accounts and beautiful daughters would make him forget the blood on their hands. They had no idea that kind of revenge never dies.

That was exactly why I went back to the estate. I wanted to warn my parents about Alistair's true intentions.

But before I could even open my mouth, they slipped poison into my tea and watched me choke on my own blood.

The moon slowly sank below the horizon. A pale gray light crept into the eastern sky. The sun was coming up. I had no choice but to retreat into the shadows of the bedroom.

Would he ever realize he was sleeping next to my murderer?

Chapter 4

I was a ghost. I was terrified of the sun. The cruelest joke was that I used to love the warmth.

Alistair came back around noon. Penelope had the private chef prepare a massive, decadent spread for him.

I huddled in the darkest corner of the dining room. I was starving. For the last half-month of my life, I had absolutely no appetite. The mere smell of food made me violently nauseous.

When they lured me back to the Carmichael estate, I was poisoned before I could even take a single bite of dinner. I died with an empty stomach.

Penelope had been too frantic waiting for Alistair to eat much over the last few days. Now that he was finally sitting across from her, her appetite returned with a vengeance.

Alistair did not touch his silver fork. He just sat back in his custom leather chair, watching her. His dark eyes were cold, calculating. He slowly rubbed his thumb against his index finger.

It was his signature tell. He only did that when he was analyzing a threat. Did he know?

"Why aren't you eating, Alistair?" Penelope asked, her voice light.

He ignored the question. "You have quite the appetite today."

Penelope froze. Panic flashed behind her eyes. She remembered she was supposed to be playing me. Quiet. Submissive. Completely lacking in presence.

She carefully set her fork down and lowered her gaze. "Excuse my manners."

Alistair leaned forward, the leather creaking slightly under his weight. "You were sick last month. My private physician is coming at two to examine you."

Real terror gripped Penelope. I knew exactly what she was afraid of. She could fake my face, but a medical exam would expose the microscopic differences beneath the skin.

But I was just as confused. I was still alive last month. He was talking about my symptoms. I had been sick a few times over the last three years, but he only ever sent the standard syndicate medics. Now, he was bringing in his elite personal physician.

Why did he suddenly care about my health?

Penelope did not dare refuse him. The second Alistair left the room, she cornered Maisie, frantically demanding to know every single symptom I had last month.

Maisie thought about it. "Last month Perry was fine, mostly. She just could not keep any food down. The smell of meat made her throw up. But it was nothing serious."

The color drained from Penelope's face. "The way you are describing it it sounds like she was pregnant."

A phantom jolt shocked my chest. That was impossible. I never missed a single pill.

Maisie waved it off with a cruel little laugh. "Do not worry about it. Even if she was knocked up, who cares? She is dead. Dead girls leave no evidence."

She was right. I was already gone. Even if I was pregnant, the baby would have barely been two months old. Even if they dug up my rotting corpse, no one would ever know.

The doctor arrived exactly at two. He ran a quick physical on Penelope, checking her vitals before stepping into the hallway with Alistair.

I floated through the heavy oak door.

The doctor lowered his voice. "She is not pregnant, Boss."

It was true. Alistair suspected I was carrying his child. That was why he cared. If I really was pregnant, he wanted to know so he could eliminate the problem before it grew.

"Understood," Alistair replied, his voice completely hollow.

The doctor must have misread the silence, thinking Alistair actually wanted an heir. "Do not worry, sir. Her vitals are perfectly normal. She is incredibly healthy. If you are trying for a child, it will happen soon."

A dark shift rippled through Alistair's eyes. "She is perfectly healthy?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely," the doctor confirmed.

Alistair slowly turned his head, staring through the glass at Penelope sitting in the living room. He gestured to Harrison, his right-hand man. "Call the Carmichael estate. Tell them I am bringing my wife home for a visit tomorrow."

In three years, he had never stepped foot on Carmichael territory. He barely even let my parents in the front gate when they tried to visit.

But he still could not know the truth. I knew exactly how Alistair operated.

If he knew my family had played him, he would not be scheduling a polite visit. He would have already slaughtered every breathing soul in the Carmichael bloodline.

Chapter 5

When Penelope found out Alistair was taking her to the Carmichael estate the next day, absolute panic set in.

"He has only been around me for half a day. Did he figure out I am not Perry?" she asked.

But she quickly reigned it in, forcing her breathing to steady. "No. He does not know. If he did, he would have put a bullet between my eyes already. But that doctor definitely said something to make him suspicious. Maisie, find out what happened in that hallway. Now."

She was sharp. The Carmichael syndicate did not breed incompetent heirs.

Early the next morning, a fleet of black SUVs rolled out toward the Carmichael estate. The harsh spring sun burned my incorporeal skin. I had to tether myself to Alistair, floating safely within the dark, heavy cast of his shadow as he walked to the car.

He was so massive that his silhouette completely shielded me from the glare. I never thought there would come a day where I needed his protection just to survive.

We pulled up to the estate gates. My parents were already waiting on the grand steps, rushing forward with sickeningly eager smiles the second Alistair stepped out. My mother immediately grabbed Penelope's hand, raw anxiety swimming in her eyes.

A phantom ache clawed at my hollow chest. My invisible throat closed up tight. In all my memories, my mother never once looked at me like that.

Even on the day she handed me over to Alistair, knowing I might not survive the night, her eyes were practically shining. She was just so thrilled Penelope was safe. I was so blindingly stupid back then. I actually believed that because she once saved me from drowning, she must have loved me too.

I drifted right next to her, staring into her face. "Mom, I would have traded places with her if you just asked. Why did you have to murder me?"

She did not hear a thing. She ignored my begging when I was breathing. She certainly was not going to hear me now. Her entire universe revolved around Penelope.

My father carefully asked Alistair what prompted the sudden visit. With the supreme boss on his deathbed, Alistair should have been locked in the boardroom securing his power.

Alistair lazily adjusted his cuffs. He claimed the spring weather was perfect and the Carmichael gardens were legendary, so he came for a stroll.

I knew that was an absolute lie. But a sudden jolt of electricity shot through my ghostly form.

My dead body was buried in those exact gardens. My parents could not have moved it yet. The estate was crawling with guards and staff. Moving a decaying corpse risked too much exposure.

Alistair strolled through the manicured hedges with a suffocating, predatory grace. Penelope trailed slightly behind him, practically vibrating with tension. My mother subtly patted her hand, a silent signal to hold it together.

My father tried probing about the shifting alliances in the syndicate.

Alistair completely ignored him. Instead, he reached out, snapped a vibrant begonia off a branch, and slowly tucked it behind Penelope's ear.

Penelope's eyes lit up with arrogant triumph. She dipped her head in a perfect, bashful display. My parents shared a look of pure relief, their rigid shoulders dropping.

Alistair used to put flowers in my hair too. It was never out of affection. I was his property. Dressing me up was just a twisted way to entertain himself. It was foreplay. He liked to visually mark me, making me look exactly the way he wanted before he tore my clothes off.

"Thank you, Alistair," Penelope purred softly.

Alistair offered a chilling half-smile and kept walking. He was heading straight for the spot. My body was buried right under the sprawling blackberry brambles ahead.

I drifted ahead of him, bracing myself. But the connection was gone. I could not feel my remains anymore.

I stared at the dark, freshly turned soil. They moved me. They dug me up last night. They were not willing to gamble with their lives.

Alistair was a man who crawled his way up from mass graves. They were terrified he would smell the rot.

But where did they put me now?

A sudden, violent gust of wind ripped through the garden. A storm of white pear blossoms swirled through the air, carrying a bitter, freezing scent. The blossoms fell like snow, burying the spring.

Chapter 6

Alistair followed the drifting pear blossoms. At the far edge of the estate grounds, hidden behind a wrought-iron gate, sat a small, isolated courtyard. A single pear tree stood in the center, its white flowers blooming with a haunting, luminous perfection.

He took a step toward it.

My parents immediately stepped into his path, forming a human barricade. They offered stiff smiles, insisting there was absolutely nothing worth seeing in that abandoned corner of the property.

Alistair's tone was smooth, yet it carried a suffocating, unyielding weight. He casually mentioned he had never seen blossoms of that specific, pale shade. He wanted a closer look.

Penelope instantly swayed on her feet, pressing a manicured hand to her temple. "Alistair, the sun is just too intense today. I feel incredibly faint. I need to lie down."

She genuinely looked pale, a thin layer of sweat breaking out across her forehead.

Alistair hesitated. His dark eyes flicked toward the courtyard one last time before he turned and escorted her inside.

I studied the raw, naked panic masking my parents' faces. I knew exactly where my rotting corpse was hidden.

Inside the sprawling guest suite, my mother sat on the edge of the mattress, rubbing Penelope's back. My father had already escorted Alistair to the private cigar lounge.

"Mom," Penelope whispered, checking the door. "Was the curse actually pregnant?"

My mother nodded grimly. "We cut her stomach open last night. There was a fetus."

A violent, blinding agony ripped through my ghostly abdomen. My invisible knees buckled. It felt like a rusted hunting knife was dragging through my actual soul, spilling my nonexistent blood onto the floorboards. I clamped my hands over my stomach, gasping for air that was not there.

I was actually pregnant. After swallowing all those birth control pills for three years, I thought my body was completely ruined. I thought I was incapable of creating a life.

"Thank God we took her out when we did," Penelope breathed, pressing a hand to her chest. "If she started showing, I never could have worn her clothes or taken her place."

My mother patted her hand affectionately. "Alistair clearly dotes on you. You saw how he treated you in the garden today. You just need to capitalize on this. Once you are pregnant with his actual heir, even if he notices something is slightly off, he will overlook it for the sake of his child."

Maisie chimed in from the corner of the room. "I paid off a contact to ask his private doctor. The doctor said the boss was strictly asking about your general health. Nothing else."

Penelope's face twisted with venomous, bitter jealousy. "He was not checking on my health. He was checking on hers."

"Penelope, listen to me," my mother soothed, brushing a lock of hair from her favorite daughter's face. "Perry is dead. Alistair belongs entirely to you now. He put that flower in your hair today. You two are going to grow old together and have a beautiful, powerful family."

A sickeningly sweet smile finally stretched across Penelope's face. "I am just so happy, Mom."

"As long as my perfect girl is happy," my mother cooed.

I could not stomach another second of it. I drifted straight through the heavy walls, fleeing out into the cold, empty air. But where was I even supposed to go?

When I was breathing, I was an outcast in my own bloodline and a captive in my husband's empire. Now that I was dead, I still could not find a single place to rest.

Night fell. Penelope waited in my bed, wearing my silk nightgown, just like she did the night before. But Alistair did not come.

He was sitting in the penthouse lounge back at our estate, staring down into a crystal tumbler of dark amber liquor.

If I were still alive, I would have breathed a massive sigh of relief. I used to pray he would drink himself into a stupor so I could finally get a full night of sleep without his bruising hands on me.

But tonight, it made absolutely no sense. He played the devoted, obsessed husband all afternoon. Why was he leaving her completely alone in his bed?

I floated into the dimly lit lounge. He was just tracing the rim of his glass, not taking a single sip. His right-hand man, Harrison, sat across from him.

"Taking her to the Carmichael estate today was a brilliant move, Boss," Harrison said, leaning back in his leather chair. "Putting on a public display of affection in front of their entire staff guarantees word will hit the streets by morning. The rest of the commission will think the Blackwoods and the Carmichaels are an unbreakable alliance. It isolates them from the other rival families. They are neutralized as a threat."

So that was why he went. It was just a calculated, ruthless political play.

For a fraction of a second, I actually deluded myself into thinking he noticed Penelope was a fraud. I was so incredibly stupid.

Harrison kept breaking down the syndicate's shifting dynamics, but Alistair's dark eyes were completely unfocused.

Harrison caught on and stopped talking. "Something on your mind, Boss?"

Alistair slowly turned his glass. "I had a dream a few nights ago. I dreamed she was standing on the opposite side of a river. There was a little kid standing next to her. The bank was completely covered in blooming pear blossoms. I called out to her. But she did not even look at me."

Harrison chuckled softly. "Sounds like the stress is getting to you. Or maybe you are finally ready to settle down and have a real family, sir."

Chapter 7

Alistair shook his head slowly. "The day my family was massacred, I had the exact same dream. They were standing on the other side of a river. No matter how loud I screamed their names, they could not hear me."

Harrison quickly tried to smooth the tension in the room. "Do not let it get in your head, Boss. The lady is literally sleeping safe and sound down the hall. It was just a nightmare."

Alistair took a slow sip of his bourbon. "Maybe it was."

A heavy, suffocating silence stretched between them.

"Put a detail on the Carmichael estate," Alistair suddenly ordered, his tone dropping into pure, calculated ice. "She goes back for a few days and miraculously recovers from being ill. That does not add up. They were hiding something today."

After Harrison left the lounge, I drifted over and sat directly across from Alistair. I just watched him in the dim light. If I still had a beating heart, I never would have dared to stare at him like this.

He dreamed about me and a small child standing under the pear blossoms. Did he actually feel the severance when the baby and I died? Did he ever actually care about me?

A warm night breeze slipped through the open penthouse window. The faint hum of the city mixed with the sound of crickets outside. Moonlight slashed across the dark floorboards. Alistair drained the last of his glass. I cast absolutely no shadow