Page 22 of The Marriage Debt

My grip tightens around Lev’s legs. “And what if I hadn’t gone? What if the review went through unchallenged because I sat here waiting for someone to tell me I was allowed to act?”

“You weren’t needed.” Mateo’s voice never lifts, but it doesn’t need to. “The judge rejected the filing this morning. Your presence at that building put both of you at risk.”

I lower Lev to the floor. He doesn’t move far. His hand remains curled in the fabric of my coat. I keep my voice level, but the anger climbs with every word.

“You don’t get to control everything I do.”

“I do when your decisions endanger my family,” he answers. “And that’s what you are now.”

I take a step toward him, careful not to raise my voice in front of Lev. “This is not a real marriage. You made that clear. You don’t own me, and you don’t get to order me around like one of your men.”

“I don’t need to own you,” he says. “But if you're going to stay under my roof, you will follow the rules.”

“I went to file a legal document, not run through traffic blindfolded. I didn’t take a risk. I made a decision, and you’re furious because I did it without asking your permission.”

“I’m furious,” he says, “because I warned you not to do exactly that.”

We stare at each other in the middle of the corridor. Lev’s eyes bounce between us, wide and uncertain. I lower my voice again and speak with precision.

“I won’t be locked inside this house like a prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” he says.

“No?” I nod toward the locked cabinet in the study, the guards stationed at the gate, and the phone that only dials three numbers. “Then tell me what I am.”

“You’re the mother of my nephew,” he says. “And right now, that makes you a target.”

“I’ve always been a target.” I shift my stance to block Lev from his view. “I was a target when I was Anton’s wife, and I’m a target now. The only thing that’s changed is who’s giving the orders.”

Mateo takes one step forward. “Then you should act like you understand the danger. You went out alone. You exposed yourself and the boy to whoever might be watching.”

“I know the risk,” I snap, and this time my voice rises despite me. I’m on edge after seeing those assholes watching me. If Mateo knew…

“Then why did you go?”

“Because no one told me it was handled.” My hands are shaking again. I curl them into fists at my sides. “I’m not psychic. I don’t have your network feeding me hourly updates. If something needs to be done, I’m going to do it. I won’t ask first. I don’t answer to you.”

He doesn’t flinch, but his silence is louder than anything else. The shadows from the overhead chandelier cast sharp lines across his face. His jaw is clenched tight, but he doesn’t speak.

Lev leans into my side. His small voice breaks through the tension.

“Mommy?”

Bending to him without another word, I scoop him into my arms and turn my back on Mateo. My shoes strike the floor in steady rhythm as I head down the corridor, not stopping when I hear Mateo shift behind me. I don’t wait for an apology or another warning. I won’t hear either.

I carry Lev upstairs without speaking, one hand cradling his head, the other wrapped under his legs. His arms stay loose around my neck, and his breath is warm against my collarbone. I push open the bedroom door with my shoulder and close it behind us with my foot.

The light in the room is soft. Late afternoon has settled across the windowpanes in thin amber streaks. I pull the blanket back with one hand and lower him onto the mattress. He blinks up at me, half-awake, already fading.

I sit beside him and unlace his shoes. He doesn’t resist, just yawns and lets his arm flop over his face. I tug the comforter over his chest and smooth the edge flat along his side. His fingers curl under the fabric like he’s claiming it for himself. It's our naptime routine, or at least that's what it's become lately.

“Do I have to go to school tomorrow?” His voice is small, muffled under the blanket.

“You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” I say, brushing the hair off his forehead, “but I think you should try.” He hasn't been back since Anton died.

He nods once, slow and uncertain. “I want to bring my drawing book.”

“Of course,” I say. “You can bring whatever you want.”

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