Page 36 of The Marriage Debt

Neither of us moves.

Finally, he says, “If you really want to leave, tell me.”

“I can’t leave,” I whisper. “Not without Lev.”

“And he’s safer here.” Mateo's words prick my heart. He's not going to let me take him. I knew it.

He doesn’t say Lev is safer with him.

He doesn’t have to. I know he is. I can't protect my own son.

I stare at him for another long second, then push past him.

I walk out of the room, up the stairs, across the tile with bare feet, cold and aching. I step outside into the afternoon air on the terrace and don’t stop walking until I reach the railing and the metal chair nested beside it. I sit. I breathe. I don’t cry.

Collateral.

Until he ends this…

18

MATEO

Alessio delivers the numbers in person, folder in hand like he knows I won’t tolerate another delay. The name on the transaction is buried under three layers of false registration, but the movement is clean—tight routing, no spikes. It took planning. Patience. Someone on the inside knows how to play this game.

“It went through Madrid,” he says, flipping the last page. “Private equity firm. Asset masking. No digital trail left on our end—just like the last two.”

“And the authorization?”

“Luca had the key code last quarter. No direct signatures. But we traced the IPs. One pings near his apartment.”

Of course it does.

Anton trusted Luca with his dirty money back when he thought loyalty meant leverage. I knew better. Loyalty means nothing if it costs you power. And now Luca thinks he’s owed something just for surviving.

I sit back in the chair and look at the final page again. Four hundred thousand, folded through a paper firm and hidden like a corpse under someone else’s name. Not personal, but deliberate. The kind of theft that expects forgiveness when it’s caught.

“Do we know the next transfer window?”

“End of week. We can trace it.”

“No,” I say. “We intercept it. Follow the collection. Let them make contact, then drag the name into the light.”

Alessio nods. “And the asset?”

“We burn it after.”

He leaves me with the silence, which I prefer. I stay where I am, let the rage settle under my ribs, coiled and clean. It’s not about the money. It’s about the principle. Someone thinks this operation is leaderless just because the last man in charge is rotting in the ground. They forgot I’m not Anton. I don’t let rats eat from the family plate.

When the door behind me opens again, I don’t turn.

The footsteps are lighter. Bare. Measured.

Lila steps out onto the terrace and says nothing. No greeting. No questions. Just the touch of her hand on my shoulder like she’s felt what I’ve been thinking.

She doesn’t ask permission.

She moves into my lap, slowly, like she’s testing the weight of her own choice. Her body settles against mine, soft and warm, a contradiction I’m tired of trying to reason with. Her mouth brushes mine, barely a whisper, but there’s nothing hesitant in the way she looks at me.

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