Page 8 of The Marriage Debt

I don’t move.

I let it wash over me. Not because it matters but because it reminds me of something I can’t afford to remember. Something Anton never had. Something I never trusted.

The boy murmurs. She quiets him. The mattress creaks, then silence.

I walk away.

My brother’s son sleeps down the hall, and whether I want him or not, he’s mine to protect now.

5

LILA

Iagonize over what to wear—truly.

I stand in front of that mirror for almost ninety full minutes with a tailored black suit, a white linen shift, and this pastel yellow dress. Each one says something different. Each one sends a message. And now, ascending the steps of the lawyer’s office, I know I've chosen the right message.

My mother thinks I'm unfit—or maybe she doesn't really believe I'm incapable, but she doesn't want Lev around the Rossi family. I agree with her on that. I don't want him around Anton's family either. But what can I do? If Anton's creditors are coming after me for the debt he owes, I'm a fool not to do as Mateo says.

Blinking the emotion away, I smooth my hands down the front of the dress to remove the anxiety-induced sweat and continue down the hallway. There are a few people passing by, others milling about. The office doors are shut except for one, gold letters painted on it with the lawyer’s name and title.

I don't have representation. I don’t even know where to begin. This is something I'd ask Marcella to help me with, but she's become the enemy now, no matter how much I hate the idea of that. And I can't afford to be throwing money at this with so little to my name.

Mateo doesn't know where I've stashed Anton's money, though I doubt it was all of it. Anton was smart—but not smart enough to evade his enemies. I know he had other accounts elsewhere, and that's what the Bianchis are coming for. The problem is I don't have access to his billions, and when I get away from Mateo, I'll need every cent of what I have.

"Ah, Mrs. Rossi," I hear, and I turn to see a man wearing a dark suit, hair slicked back to the right, with a scar snipping the end of his left eyebrow. "You may go in and wait. Your mother and her counsel are already waiting." The judge, maybe? Or a court clerk of some kind.

I nod politely, but I don't smile. I'm not here for fun and games. I'm here to stand my ground and tell my mother to fuck off entirely. "Thank you," I tell him, turning toward the open office door. I smell her before I even walk through. The thick perfume she wears is a fog suffocating me.

Mother's eyes sweep over to meet me, doing a once-over from my head to my toes as I walk in. There is only judgment. Disapproval. She expected the black suit, I'm sure. But the yellow dress is approachable, friendly, even compassionate. The judge will see her cold, stern exterior and take one look at me and know the truth.

"Mother," I say, choosing a seat opposite her at the long table. Marcella keeps her head down, dutifully representing my mother in this atrocity they call a custody battle. I feel sympathy for her. I know how it feels to be under Mother's thumb. It makes me wonder what unspeakable dark thing Marcella has done to earn this punishment, but my own anger at my mother for using my cousin against me bites back those thoughts.

"We can begin," Mother says, nodding at the man in the suit.

"Very well," he says, nodding at her. He shuts the door with a soft click and pads over to the end of the table, back to the door, and sits down. His hands begin shuffling stacks of papers, eyes carefully tracing the movement as he sorts. "Mrs. Rossi, I?—"

"That's Ms. V—" I'm cut off before I can correct him as the door swings open again. This time it's Mateo, wearing an oddly casual suit, a warm expression, and a relaxed posture. I've never seen him look so human as he approaches me. The man, whom I'm assuming is a judge, looks up at him with curiosity.

"Beg pardon, sir," he says, narrowing his eyes. "We're in the middle of something."

Mateo ignores him, walking straight to me. He leans down, cupping one cheek as he presses a kiss to the other. He whispers, "I told you to wait for me. Now smile like a good girl."

Confused, I stiffen at his touch, then try my hardest to just do what he says. The smile is faker than my mother's tits, but it's there—plastic, fearful, but present.

“You’ll have to excuse my tardiness,” Mateo says, his voice smooth, just the right amount of remorse. Damn, he's good, and I hate it.

He smiles as he sits beside me, like he hasn’t just disrupted the entire energy of the room. Like he belongs here. And somehow, terrifyingly, I think he does.

The mediator blinks at him, nods once, then shuffles his papers. “Right. Well. Now that you’re both present, we can begin.” I see his eyes shifting nervously. He knew Mateo was coming? But he had to act surprised so my mother didn't know that he knew.

My mother doesn’t look at him, but I see the way her fingers tense on the table. Her jaw tightens. She doesn’t like surprises, and Mateo Rossi is a walking, breathing landmine.

“Mr. Rossi,” the mediator begins, “you’ve requested to be involved in these proceedings as a legal guardian. Can you clarify your relationship to the child in question?”

Mateo’s posture doesn’t shift. He remains perfectly still, hands folded on the table, his expression unreadable. Mother sits straighter, glancing at Marcella whose head is down.

“I’m Lev’s uncle,” he says calmly. “And his mother’s husband.”

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