Page 21 of The Marriage Debt

When I come back, she’s curled on my side of the bed—head on my pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek like she’s been here a thousand nights instead of just this one. She’s taken the spot without hesitation, like the act itself means something. It probably does.

I stand there for a moment, towel at my waist, watching the slow rise and fall of her back. She doesn’t turn to look at me. She doesn’t offer some soft, pathetic apology or try to explain. She just takes the space like it’s hers.

I don’t move her.

I drop the towel, slide under the sheets, and lie beside her. There’s a few inches between us, but the heat of her body is close enough to feel. Her scent clings to the pillow. I breathe it in once and let my eyes close.

This doesn’t change anything.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

11

LILA

The court filing center is colder than I remember it being. Whitewashed walls, chipped tile floor, and overhead lights that hum like they’re angry to be alive create an atmosphere more sterile than secure. I keep Lev close to me, one hand wrapped tight around his as we pass through the metal detectors and into the public records office. He doesn’t complain. He hasn’t said much since I got the call from Marcella.

Her voice had that tone I hate, flat and clinical without a trace of emotion. The Varo family filed for an emergency review of the marriage license. They’re claiming coercion, obstruction, and fraud. The last one made me laugh under my breath, though nothing about it felt funny.

I step up to the clerk’s desk and slide the paperwork through the window. My counterstatement is handwritten, not because I’m sentimental, but because I no longer trust shared printers or electronic signatures. Anton taught me that.

Lev leans against my hip and blinks up at the fluorescent lighting overhead. “Are we going home now?” he asks.

“Soon, baby,” I answer, brushing his hair back with my free hand. He nods without a smile. He looks tired, and I know the city takes something from us every time we're out and about. I'd like to keep him cocooned inside his room, safe in my arms until he has to leave, but life has to go on, even after death.

I thank the clerk without meeting her eyes and turn to leave with Lev in tow. As we pass through the main doors and out into the plaza, something catches my attention. Two men are stationed across the square. One leans against the frame of a doorway with his arms folded, while the other crouches beside a motorbike with his helmet still on. Neither of them speaks. They don’t move, but they're watching.

I focus on the man near the doorway and feel my stomach drop when recognition clicks. Niko—he used to run errands for Anton. He vanished around the time Anton had his final fallout with the Bianchis. I remember the way he laughed while Anton beat a man with a paperweight, how blood spattered across the wall like a shaken can of paint and erupted.

He isn’t laughing now.

Lev tugs my hand again and whispers, “Mommy?”

I walk, not quickly enough to draw attention but with deliberate purpose. We move around the side of the building, taking the long path through a narrow walkway behind the public records office. I don't know if the cameras cover this angle, but I don’t want to risk their seeing us slip away. My hand stays deep in my coat pocket, fingers wrapped tightly around the slim blade Anton gave me on our first date. At the time, I thought it was overkill. Now I’m not convinced I was right. I had no idea what I was getting into.

I don’t look over my shoulder, but I know they’re still there. They aren’t following, only watching right now, but that alone unnerves me. I'm full of anxiety as we approach the car. We reach it, and I buckle Lev into the backseat with steady hands. My heart pounds against my ribs hard enough to echo in my ears. The driver says nothing as I close the door. He’s been paid to stay quiet and keep the engine running, and I'm glad Mateo hasn't put down orders for them to refuse to listen to me.

As we pull away from the curb, I glance back once toward the plaza. The two men are gone, but the sense of being hunted remains.

The moment the car pulls through the gate, my hands are still trembling. I thank the driver without looking at him, unbuckle Lev, and lift him into my arms. His head rests on my shoulder. He doesn’t speak. He knows something is wrong, but he’s too tired or too scared to ask what. My steps echo on the marble as we enter through the side corridor. I head for the stairs with every intention of getting him cleaned up and settled.

Mateo is waiting in the hall.

He stands near the main staircase, arms folded, expression locked in something between disdain and disbelief. His jacket is off, his shirt rolled to the elbows. His eyes land on Lev first, then on me, and the temperature in the hallway drops.

“You left the estate,” he says, voice calm but with an edge that cuts.

“I had something to take care of.” I adjust Lev in my arms and keep walking.

“You left without security.” He doesn’t raise his voice, but the authority in it fills the entire space.

I stop, keeping Lev close. “Marcella called. There was an emergency review filed on the marriage. I had to respond.”

Mateo steps toward me. “I already handled it.”

I meet his gaze. “You didn’t tell me.”

“I warned you not to leave without clearance,” he says. “Not just for you. For him.”

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