MARCUS POV
Marcus was already moving before Emma could process what he'd said.
"Stay here," he ordered. "Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone except James or me."
"My father—"
"Is alive. That's all that matters right now. I need to find out who tried to kill him and why."
Marcus grabbed his phone and keys. He was out the door in seconds. The penthouse fell silent except for my racing heartbeat.
Someone had tried to kill my father. Three days after I married Marcus to save his life, someone tried to murder him anyway.
I sat frozen at the kitchen table. My hands were shaking. My coffee was cold. Everything felt wrong.
My phone rang. Dad's number.
I answered. "Are you okay?"
"Emma." His voice was trembling. "Two men broke into the house. They had guns. If the police hadn't been driving by—"
"Where's Mom?"
"Upstairs. Sedated. She doesn't know what happened yet. Emma, they said my debt wasn't cleared. They said the Russo family still wants payment. They said—" His voice broke. "They said you marrying Marcus wasn't enough."
My blood turned to ice. "That's impossible. Anthony Russo made a deal. The debt was cleared when I signed the marriage certificate."
"Then someone's lying," Dad whispered. "And I don't know who."
The call ended. I stared at my phone trying to make sense of what was happening.
Anthony had promised. The marriage cleared the debt. My father stayed alive. My family stayed safe. That was the deal.
Unless Anthony lied. Unless this was always the plan. Marry me off to Marcus, then kill my father anyway to eliminate loose ends.
Or someone else was making moves. Someone who wanted my father dead for different reasons.
I opened my laptop. I pulled up everything I could find about the attempted hit. Police scanner reports. News alerts. Nothing yet. Too recent.
But this wasn't random. Professional killers don't just stumble onto targets. Someone sent them. Someone wanted my father dead badly enough to risk going against the Russo family's arrangement.
Someone was playing a different game.
Three hours passed. Marcus didn't call. Didn't text. I sat in that penthouse reading case files because doing something was better than panicking.
The door opened. Marcus walked in looking like he'd been to war. Blood on his shirt. Knuckles split. Face dark with rage.
"Is he dead?" I asked. My voice was steadier than I felt.
"No. The shooters are." Marcus walked to the kitchen sink and washed his hands. Red water spiraled down the drain. "They were hired by Paul Drake."
The name meant nothing to me. "Who?"
"My closest friend. Or so I thought. He's been working with a rival family. Trying to destabilize my father's organization. Your father was supposed to be the opening move. Kill him, make it look like the Russo family broke their word, turn you against us."
I processed that. "He wanted me to think Anthony lied."
"He wanted you angry enough to testify. Betrayed enough to cooperate with federal prosecutors. You're the weak link, Emma. You have access to everything now. If Paul could turn you, he could bring down the entire organization."
"And now?"
"Now Paul's dead. The shooters are dead. Your father has protection. But this proves what I already knew. You being my wife makes you a target. People will come at you to get to me. To get to my father. To destroy what we've built."
I stood. Walked to where he was standing. Looked at the blood on his shirt.
"You killed them," I said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"For my father. For me."
Marcus met my eyes. "For the deal. For the organization. For the integrity of our arrangement. Don't make it more than it is."
But it was more. I could see it in his eyes. He'd killed people tonight not just because his father ordered it. He'd killed them because they'd threatened me. Because somewhere in the three days since our wedding, I'd stopped being just leverage.
I'd become something he protected.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"Don't thank me. This is my job."
"Is it? Or is it something else?"
Marcus turned away. He pulled off his bloody shirt and threw it in the trash. His back was scarred. Old wounds from a life of violence I was just beginning to understand.
"You should rest," he said without looking at me. "Tomorrow starts the real work."
"What real work?"
Marcus walked to the table. He dropped a thick file in front of me. "Federal contractor implicated in organized crime. Trial in three weeks. Our attorney is incompetent. The exposure is massive. I need you to fix it."
I opened the file. Started reading.
The case was complicated. An assault charge where Russo interests were implicated through corporate channels. Evidence was strong. Timeline was solid. The attorney they'd hired was arguing all the wrong points.
I read for twenty minutes. Then I looked up.
"You're losing because your attorney is arguing emotion when you need to argue procedure," I said. "The statute of limitations on the original charge expired six months before this new filing. Your attorney missed it completely. You're not losing. You're about to win if you file the right motion."
Marcus leaned against the counter watching me. "Explain."
I pulled up my notes. Showed him the timeline. Showed him the procedural errors. Showed him exactly how to dismantle the prosecution's case through legal technicalities they'd overlooked.
"The original charge was filed in March," I explained. "Massachusetts has a six-month statute of limitations for this specific assault classification. The new filing happened in October. Seven months later. Your attorney should have filed a motion to dismiss based on expired statute. Instead, he's trying to argue reasonable doubt on the assault itself. He's fighting the wrong battle."
Marcus was silent. Listening. Processing.
"Draft the motion," he said finally. "I'll get it filed through our attorney by morning."
"It's eleven PM."
"Then you have nine hours."
He walked toward his bedroom. Stopped in the doorway. Turned back.
"Emma?"
"Yes?"
"You just saved someone from twenty years in prison. That person has killed six people for my family. You just gave a killer his freedom. You understand what that means?"
I understood perfectly. I was becoming complicit. I was using my skills to help criminals avoid justice. I was crossing lines I'd promised myself I'd never cross.
"I understand," I said.
"And you're okay with it?"
"I'm surviving. There's a difference."
Marcus nodded. Something in his expression shifted. Not approval exactly. But recognition. Like he saw himself in my answer.
He went to his room. The door closed.
I sat at the table and started drafting. Legal language flowed through my fingers. Precedents. Citations. Arguments structured with surgical precision.
Hours passed. The motion grew. Twenty pages. Thirty. Forty.
I didn't stop. Couldn't stop. This was my value. This was what kept me alive. If I could save the Russo family millions through legal maneuvering, if I could protect their operations through courtroom strategy, then I was too useful to kill.
At 4 AM, I finished. My eyes were burning. My back ached. But the motion was perfect. Airtight. The judge would have no choice but to dismiss.
I leaned back in my chair. Closed my eyes just for a second.
When I opened them, sunlight was streaming through the windows. I was in the guest room. Covered with a blanket. My laptop and files were on the nightstand.
Someone had carried me here. Covered me. Made sure I was comfortable.
Marcus.
I sat up. My body ached from sleeping in my clothes. But something else ached too. Something in my chest that felt dangerous.
I walked to the kitchen. Marcus was at the counter reading my motion. Coffee cup beside him. Still wearing yesterday's pants but a clean shirt now.
"It's good," he said without looking up. "Better than good. This will work."
"You carried me to bed."
Marcus finally looked at me. His expression was carefully neutral. "You were asleep at the table. You're no use to me exhausted."
"You could have woken me up."
"I could have."
"But you didn't."
"No."
We stared at each other. Something unspoken passing between us. Something that felt like the beginning of something neither of us could afford.
"The motion's been filed," Marcus said, breaking the moment. "Judge will review it this afternoon. If it works—"
"When it works," I interrupted.
Marcus almost smiled. "When it works, my father will want to meet you officially. Welcome you into the organization properly. You'll have proven your value."
"And if it doesn't work?"
"Then you better hope the next case goes better."
His phone rang. He answered. His expression changed immediately.
"When?" Pause. "How many?" Pause. "I'm on my way."
He hung up. Looked at me with eyes that had gone cold.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Federal raid. Three of our warehouses. Simultaneous. Someone tipped them off. Someone inside the organization is working with prosecutors."
My stomach dropped. "They think it's me."
"My father thinks it's you. And he wants you brought in for questioning. Now."