"Absolutely not," I say immediately, my pulse spiking at the thought of her in danger.
"You've killed three men tonight trying to protect me," she says, reaching for my ruined hands. Her fingers trace the splitknuckles with unexpected tenderness, not flinching from the blood that comes away on her skin. "Let me protect us for once."
She lifts my hand to her lips, kissing each damaged knuckle. The gesture is so gentle, so at odds with the violence saturating the room, that something cracks in my chest.
"You want to use your wife as bait?" Marco asks, but there's consideration in his tone, not dismissal.
Emma doesn't look away from me as she answers: "Not bait, just use my information. Besides, I'm not asking. I'm volunteering. There's a difference."
"So my wife wants to play spy?" I say. "This marriage is getting more interesting by the day. Next you'll tell me you can crack safes and mix poisons."
Her lips twist in amusement as she takes a clean cloth from my desk drawer and starts cleaning the blood from my hands with careful efficiency. Each stroke removes evidence of tonight's violence, but her touch promises she's not trying to clean the darkness from me, just tending the wounds it causes.
"Three bodies," she murmurs, echoing my opening words. "Three men who thought they could hurt us. How many more will you destroy before you realize I'm not a princess who needs saving? Don't hurt yourself on my account."
"Worried about me, cara? Careful, I might start thinking you actually like me. Though the concerned wife look is very fetching on you."
The phone rings again. This time, Emma doesn't ask permission. She simply takes control, putting it on speaker. I watch her voice drop to something I've never heard from her. Attempted authority that wavers slightly but holds.
"That was quick," she observes. "Desperate?"
"Where's your husband, Mrs.Rosetti? Hiding behind his fake bride's skirts?"
Emma's laugh is brittle but determined. "My husband is standing right here, covered in the blood of everyone who's threatened us so far. Would you like to be next?"
Through the window, I spot movement. My men handling another interrogation. Emma follows my gaze, her hand settling on my shoulder. Her grip tightens as she watches, a small tremor running through her fingers, but she doesn't look away.
"Five million is insulting," she continues to the blackmailer, her voice gaining strength. "The routes are worth ten times that. You're either stupid or desperate, and either way, you're dead. The only question is whether my husband kills you quickly or…" she pauses, swallowing hard, "or slowly."
"You're making a mistake," the voice warns, but there's uncertainty now where before there was confidence.
"No," Emma says, her voice steadier now. "You made the mistake when you thought I was the weak point. I'm learning not to be."
She ends the call without waiting for a response. When she turns to face me, her eyes are bright with fear and determination.
"Your men have another one," she observes quietly, nodding toward the window. "Another lead to follow."
Marco stares at her with something approaching respect. "You're not what I expected from the Hewson princess."
She doesn't flinch, keeping her composure. "I'm becoming what your brother needs me to be. A Rosetti."
The words hit with the force of a confession. She's not just accepting our violence. She's trying to claim it, even if her hands still shake slightly. My brave girl, stepping into darkness she's not quite ready for but willing to face for us.
"I have to say, watching you threaten people in that oversized shirt is doing terrible things to my concentration," I tell her. "Weshould probably discuss strategy, but all I can think about is how good you look wielding my name like a weapon."
Marco leaves to coordinate tomorrow's offensive, and I'm alone with my wife who just tried to command a blackmailer despite her obvious fear. The adrenaline from tonight's violence mixes with desperate need as I pull her against me.
"You were brave," I growl against her throat. "My brave girl."
She arches into me, her body already responding. "Take me to our bedroom. Now."
I don't need to be asked twice. I carry her through the quiet compound, her legs wrapped around my waist, her mouth hot against my neck. Each step brings us closer to our sanctuary, where the violence of our world transforms into something else entirely.
Our bedroom door closes behind us with finality. I set her on the bed, both of us high on adrenaline and shared darkness. She pulls me down, her mouth finding mine with bruising force.
But this time is different. She kisses my split knuckles with something between fascination and lingering innocence. "Tell me about tonight," she whispers against my lips, and I hear both curiosity and nervousness in her voice.
I tear the silk from her body, beyond gentle. She's already wet, already ready, but she needs more than just my cock tonight. She needs to understand what I've become for her.
