Page 4 of The Marriage Debt

I didn't wish him dead. I just wanted to be free, far away from him. The fascination I had with him when I was eighteen wore off the first time he hit me, but by then I'd already fucked up and gotten myself pregnant. I had no clue at the time, but when you fuck a made man and carry his baby, apparently, you belong to him for life. And now his life is over.

My eyes scan the lines of text as I try to force myself to focus on the book and get interested, but I just can't. After Marcella stopped by to tell me my mother is seeking custody, I feel like I should be packing, running away now before things get worse. If I'm not around the Rossi family anymore, my mother will have no case, no legal grounds to prove Anton's life is a threat to Lev anymore.

She never would have tried this if Anton were alive. That's what's sickening. She's doing it to spite me, to twist the knife in my chest. She has no interest in her grandson. She just doesn't want me to have him. If he has to live at the Varo estate, he'll be raised by nannies and tutors the way I was and turn out just as fucked up. I won't let that happen. Lev belongs with me, being loved and nurtured.

When I realize I'm not ever going to get into the book, I set it aside and pick up my tea and sip it. It's not calming me, not helping the rhythm of my body lean toward sleep, either. And it tastes awful, but I keep sipping, keep thinking about how I'm going to get out of this mess.

Mother has armies of people working for her, each of them armed with the knowledge that I am the black sheep and she always gets what she wants. Well, not this time.

Finally, I get the motivation I need. I push myself off the couch, leaving the blanket on the floor where it drops, and set my teacup down. If she's going to push me, then I'm going to do the thing I do best—vanish. I'll pack a few bags, one for each of us, transfer every penny I have to my own private account in the Caymans, and be on the first flight out of Italy in the morning.

My plan is in place now. I move toward the stairs with purpose, already thinking of what time I'll have to wake Lev in the morning. It will take me an hour or so to pack. I need a bath, and he'll need a shower in the morning. We'll get breakfast on the way and?—

The bell rings, pausing me on the third step from the bottom. I glance at the Howard Miller on the wall to see it's only just after eight. With no nap Lev went down early, but if company is calling, it will still be a late night for me. I can't afford to be too tired when traveling all day, not with a five-year-old to entertain, so I think for a second that I'll ignore the door and continue with my plan.

But as I turn my back on it and continue climbing the stairs, whoever it is begins pounding. It's a harsh sound, rattling the walls, echoing up the stairs toward Lev's room where he is sleeping, and my motherly instinct kicks in.

I lash the robe I’m wearing shut and rush down the stairs, whipping the door open in haste. "Do you mind?" I hiss into the rain, taking in the sight of Rafe Mancini standing at my doorstep. "Lev is sleeping, you fucking idiot." I'm livid and my chest heaves, but Mr. Mancini only nods his head and steps closer as if he's expecting me to back in and invite him into my home.

"What do you want?" It's colder now than it's been all day. The summer rains were supposed to chill us, but I never expected it to be so bitter. I suppose even the weather is mourning Anton, though I can't see why anyone would miss him.

"May I?" he asks, nodding at a general location behind me. He has two men with him—muscle. I've seen Anton go out at times like this, with men at his side for protection, or so I assumed. These men don't appear to be protection but more like intimidation.

"For what?" The anger is starting to simmer down to annoyance. Whatever Anton's brother wants, he can fuck off too. Everything of value is at our home on the other side of the city. He can go there and get it himself.

"Ms. Varo," he says, lowering his head slightly to look through his lashes at me. At least he's using the name I prefer. I hated being called Mrs. Rossi. It made my skin crawl. Maybe my mother’s influence was a little stronger than I thought. "This isn't an option." He moves forward and forces me back. All three of them stomp in, leaving puddles on the marble from their boots.

"What the hell, Rafe!"

"I am going to have to ask you to get your things. Mr. Rossi would like to have a word with you." His eyes scan the room, nodding, taking in the sight. The other two men stand with eyes fixed on an invisible horizon, hands clasped in front of themselves as I shut the door and cross my arms over my chest.

"My things? What the fuck are you talking about? I'm in my pajamas. I was just heading to bed." The lie rolls seamlessly off my tongue. It's easy now, though it wasn't so easy when I first met Anton. But his abuse taught me a lot, mainly how to protect myself.

"That's changing." He raises his eyebrows and nods at the stairs. "Get a bag, one for you and one for the boy, and we'll be on our way. Mr. Rossi will explain when you get there."

Rafe is a handsome man but an asshole in the highest regard, just like his buddies, just like Anton. I don't know a whole lot about Mateo, either, except that which I've gleaned from family gatherings, which is little considering Anton seemed to abhor anything to do with his father and hated visiting the Rossi estate. His dad has been dead ten years, so I never understood it, but I've seen Mateo. He looks just like the older Rossi.

"You can tell Mr. Rossi—very cordially—to fuck all the way off… To hell and back." I smile sardonically and push past him, heading up the stairs to continue my plan. "He doesn't own me."

Rafe catches my elbow and forces me to stop with a grip of iron that makes my shoulder wrench and my back stiffen. "Do you think they will stop and wait for the court to decide what's going to happen? You'll be sorry when you wake up to your son missing, or worse, his blood all over his pillow." Rafe's breath is hot on my cheek. "Get. Your. Fucking. Bag," he says, punctuating every word with a percussive burst of air.

"Fuck you."

"Is that an invitation?" he growls before leaning in to smell my hair. I shudder, remembering how Anton would get when he drank. I wouldn't call it rape, but it wasn't exactly making love. It makes goosebumps rise on my arms and legs, and I hold my breath until he lets me go.

Swallowing hard, I continue up the stairs. Mateo Rossi is a fucking sick fuck and I hate him for this. Whatever he wants, it had better not take long, because I have a new life to escape to before my mother wakes up and sees that I'm missing.

* * *

The Rossi estate is impressive. I've always thought so. It has tall topiary on either side of the front door, lights to showcase the pristine leaded-glass windows, and stone seemingly hewn by the gods and cared for meticulously for more than a century, and inside is no different. Mateo has had his staff preserve the home's beauty as well as their father before them.

Still, when I stand inside the entryway with Rafe and his goons carrying our bags, I don't allow myself to be impressed. I'm not here for a social event. I'm here, forced against my will, for whatever sick purpose my dead husband's brother has for me.

"He's in his office. Take the boy," Rafe grunts as he jerks his chin up the hallway.

Lev is full of energy now after his nap. It's nearing nine p.m. He should be sleeping, but he's wired and running up the hallway before I can stop him. His feet slap on the wood flooring, and I stutter step to chase after him.

"Lev," I hiss quietly, but he turns a corner and vanishes. Panicked, I move a bit faster, only to turn the same corner and slam into the broad, firm chest of Mateo Rossi, older brother and even more dangerous than Anton.

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