Page 10 of The Marriage Debt

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My pulse pounds in my throat like a war drum. I want to scream. Cry. Spit in his face. Instead, I just stand there, humiliated and off-balance.

Mateo turns without another word, opens the car door, and slides into the back seat like we never had the conversation. Like he didn’t just tear a hole in me and walk away from it.

The door shuts with a hollow, echoing thud.

I stand on the curb, chest heaving, hand still trembling.

The engine rumbles to life. I watch the tail lights blink, red against the gray walls.

And I hate him.

God, I hate him for making it sound so real.

Worse, I hate myself for wanting it to be.

6

MATEO

The study seems colder than usual today. Maybe it’s the low light. Maybe it’s the silence. The windows are open slightly, letting in that dull, gray aura that Rome gets when the sky can’t decide whether to rain or not. The room smells like old wood and cigar smoke, my breath like whiskey. I'm not the marrying type, but that's what this situation demands, so here I am.

The officiant stands near the window, flipping slowly through the paperwork he’ll sign once it’s done. He’s expressionless—paid to be that way. That’s why I chose him—someone with enough sense not to ask questions, not to comment on the lack of guests, the lack of emotion, the lack of anything resembling a wedding.

Lila walks in ten minutes late. I don’t comment and she doesn’t apologize, though I do have to fight to keep the scowl on my face. She’s wearing a pale dress with no lace, no jewelry, no real shape—just fabric meant to hide her body, her mood, her thoughts. She looks beautiful, even without makeup or fanfare. Anton was a lucky man.

She walks in like she’s reporting for sentencing, stops a few feet away from me, and folds her hands in front of herself. Her eyes don’t rise to meet mine. Her mouth is flat. No communication is necessary for this moment. I can read her like a book. She’s not interested in marrying me and she's only here under duress.

We don’t speak.

I don’t offer her a chair.

She doesn’t look for one.

The officiant waits another beat before he clears his throat and begins. His voice is calm, almost lazy in its cadence, like this is a favor he’s done a hundred times. “For the record, both parties are present. Mateo Giovanni Rossi and Lila Serafina Varo. There will be no ceremonial proceedings. This is a civil agreement under state authority.” He looks up briefly, eyes passing over her, then me. “Do you agree to this legal arrangement, Mr. Rossi?”

“Yes,” I say. I don’t elaborate. I don’t look at her, but I don't feel I need to. I've made myself clear. This is the path forward to keep Lev safely tucked away from her mother's talons. It's also the best way for me to absorb Anton's debts and protect her and her son from his creditors.

The officiant turns his attention to her. “Ms. Varo?”

Her voice is quiet, even. “Yes.” I see the vein bulging in her temple, the way her shoulders are tight. Her body language is loud in protest, but if the officiant notices, he says nothing. As long as she doesn't actively defy me, we'll be fine.

The officiant nods, makes a note, and continues with a few more acknowledgments that mean nothing. He doesn’t ask us to face each other. He doesn’t talk about love or promises or permanence. I told him not to. I don’t want the illusion of sentiment. Something tugs at my chest, a cord tied around that tender part of myself I never reveal, but it’s very real all the same, though. It is a weakness I won't allow to affect me, but it's present.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement in the hallway. Lev, peeking around the doorframe. He’s crouched low, watching from the shadows like he’s trying not to be caught, even though we both know he's allowed to be here. He just doesn't want to be seen. I let him watch. There’s no point in hiding anything.

When the documents are laid on the desk, I sign first. My pen doesn’t stutter. I'm making this choice in the best interests of the boy and my family legacy, though someday, Lev will be trained to follow another just as my father trained me and Anton. The boss is always proud of men who bring their sons into the fold.

She signs after me. Her signature is smaller than I expected. Tighter. She hands the pen back to the officiant without a glance in my direction.

The man collects the papers, gives us a final nod. “It’s done. You’ll receive certified copies by mail.” His eyes flick up to mine again and he tucks the papers under his arm. I lift my eyebrows in the direction of the door, and he lets himself out without fanfare, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

The ring box is already on the desk. Lila opens it without a word. There are two inside. She takes hers, slides it on like she’s putting on handcuffs, then closes the lid and leaves mine untouched. I don’t reach for it, though I do feel that tug again.

She doesn’t say anything. Not congratulations, not thanks, not even a dry comment about how absurd this all is or how much she hates me. She just walks out, picks Lev up, and vanishes.

I watch the space where she stood a moment longer before I turn toward the window, roll my sleeves up to the elbow, and sit in the chair she didn’t use.

It’s done.

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