Page 2 of The Marriage Debt

"Your husband had unpaid debts." He nods his head, as if tipping a hat or greeting me fondly. He's disgusting, a vile heathen I loathe, someone who reminds me of the ties I've made in this life that I cannot undo. It's in Lev's blood too—I've doomed him simply by carrying him to term.

I raise my chin, meet his gaze. I'm not intimidated at all. I'm angry. "Vaffanculo," I hiss, stamping the heel of my foot onto the marble floor.

Lev lifts his head sleepily, looks up at the man, and blinks a few times. "Mommy?" he says, oblivious to the insult I've slung at this sick bastard.

"Shh, baby. We're leaving now," I tell him, but I keep my eyes glued to the monster in front of me. A man much like Anton, scary and dangerous but not my problem anymore. I don't owe him money. Anton did, and Anton is dead.

The man walks away, and when he is gone, I find my car waiting. It's a luxury I'm going to have to cough up soon. The Rossis won't keep paying for me to live in the lap of luxury anymore, and God knows my family won't either. I've drained every one of Anton's accounts that I know of. It's roughly a half-million I'll have to stay comfortable while I find a way to make money for myself. In Rome, that's several years of low-income housing and surviving, but not if I take into account Lev's education. I have to think about that.

The car shuttles us home, and Lev falls asleep in my arms. I stare out the window blankly, much the same way I stared at the guests at the funeral wake. Life is going to change. I'm not sure what it will look like, but I want to put as much distance between the Rossi family and my son as possible. I don't want him sucked into this mess. Anton wanted to train him up to be some sort of replacement or soldier. We argued about it daily. Now Lev can be what he wants.

When the car stops, I slide out, pick Lev up, and head to the door. The small apartment in Trastevere isn't home, but the gift from Anton has kept me company more than one lonely, sleepless night. He gave it to me when I caught him fucking that whore, Bianca. Whenever he wanted her in our bed, he'd suggest I visit "the trast." It was his reminder that I was under his thumb, just another whore he fucked.

"Mommy," Lev whimpers, and I soothe him with kisses on his cheeks.

"We're home, baby," I tell him as I begin the climb up the stairs. I don't see her until I'm already at the door with my driver two steps ahead of me to unlock it for me.

Marcella, my cousin and one of the only members of my family I've kept in touch with over the years, stands with an umbrella, dressed in black, holding a portfolio. As I approach, she pulls a manila folder from it and with a stern expression she thrusts it in my direction.

"What's this?" I say, shaking my head. I'm not accepting anything right now. I'm holding my son.

My driver takes it, nodding at her and smiling as he also takes Lev from my arms and carries him in the house. I hug my arms over my chest and stare at my cousin, who is here for a purpose. But at least her attire is appropriate for the occasion.

"Lila," she starts, and I already hear the tone. I hate that tone, condescending, punitive. "Serafina sends her regards?—"

"And what?"

Her eyes drop. She's ashamed, but she's not backing down. Mother has a death grip on her somehow. "And a summons."

Marcella is a lawyer, the family lawyer. Ten years my senior, she was leaving law school when I was throwing myself at Anton as the escape hatch, hoping to flee my parents' strict ideologies. This was never supposed to happen. Anton just took control, and here I am.

"A summons?" I ask, glancing into the open door. It's cold. I want Lev with me.

"Serafina is seeking custody of Lev, Lila. She says you're an unfit mother." She tightens her lips into a firm line and then continues. "She said to 'get your shit in order' and she told me to serve you." Her eyes drop again. "I'm sorry."

"What do you mean, she's seeking custody? Lev is my son. My son, not hers. She can't take him from me." My heart throws itself against my ribcage. My head spins.

"He's not safe in the life of crime, Lila. She only wants what's best for him."

My hand reaches out and smacks her across the face before I can think. "She's not taking my son." My chest heaves. My vision blurs. "Get off my property." I have no way to fight them. They have no right to do this.

"Just don’t fight this. Maybe they'll take you back…" Marcella walks away with her head hanging under the umbrella, and I stand there shuddering in anger.

Anton is reaching from the grave. It's his doing. He's haunting me, taking everything I have left, the only thing I love.

Well, fuck him.

Because no one is taking my son. Not even my own fucking mother.

2

MATEO

I've been over the documents and they're most certainly legitimate. Serafina Varo isn't wasting time moving in on our turf to snatch up what she thinks is an asset to her family's wealth—one of the reasons Anton should never have gotten into bed with that family from the beginning. They may be above-board, clean, but the matriarch is like a pit bull with a bone when she wants something.

"Another glass of wine, sir?" Jives stands, waiting on me with his hand poised to refill my glass. I flick my hand at him, dismissing him, and his soft-soled shoes pad across the hardwood floors as he retreats from my father's old office.

Shadows loom over me, ghosts of the past staring at my business dealings from the pages of the hundreds of books that line the bookshelves. Smoke clings to the ceiling and lampshade of the floor lamp next to the desk where I sit, giving the room a pungent stench that has become one with my persona. My cigars, my cologne, the faint hint of gunpowder often found on my clothing, and the metallic scent of blood every once in a while when I have to get my hands dirty.

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