“The facts.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “The facts are that I’m apparently married to a criminal who admitted to being part of organized crime. What’s to stop me from going to the FBI? The police? Anyone who might actually help me get out of this?”
“Spousal privilege, for one. You’re my wife now. Anything I’ve told you is protected.” I tilt my head and study her flushed face. “And even if you could testify, what would you say? That your husband runs a legitimate business that happens to have some unconventional security measures? You have no proof of anything illegal. Just my word, which I would obviously deny.”
“So I’m trapped.”
We glare at each other. She’s close enough that I can smell her perfume again. That same floral scent with spice underneath. It makes my blood run hot in ways I shouldn’t be feeling right now.
She’s furious with me. Rightfully so. I manipulated her, tricked her, upended her entire existence without her permission.
And yet.
There’s something about the way she stands her ground. The way she refuses to crumble even when faced with information that would send most people running. She’s scared—I can see it in the way her hands tremble at her sides—but she’s not backing down. Not begging. Not crying.
Fighting.
It awakens something in me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. A spark of admiration mixed with something darker. Something that wants to see just how far she’ll push.
“You should know,” she grinds out through gritted teeth, “that I will find a way out of this. I don’t care how many lawyers you have or how much power you think you hold. I am not going to be your prisoner.”
“I never said you were.”
“Then what am I?”
“My wife.” The word feels different now. Heavier. More real than it did when I signed the paperwork this morning. “And everything that comes with it.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Protection. Resources. Freedom to continue your life as you see fit.” I tick them off on my fingers. “You can keep yourjob. See your friends. Maintain whatever routines matter to you. The only restriction is that you can’t discuss what I’ve told you with anyone outside my immediate family. For your safety as much as mine.”
“And if I break that restriction?”
“Then we’ll both face consequences. I’m not threatening you, Kirsten. I’m being honest about the reality we’re both in now. You’ve been pulled into a world you don’t understand. A world where information is currency and trust is earned in blood. The only way to survive it is together.”
She stares at me for a long moment. I watch the emotions play across her face, then she steps back, putting distance between us.
“I need to think,” she states flatly.
“Take all the time you need.”
“I need to be away from you.”
“That can be arranged. But you should know that Wallace and Tillman will be expecting you to report back to them soon. When you don’t, they’ll start asking questions.” I return to my seat behind the desk. “The safest place for you right now is close to me. Whether you like it or not.”
“I don’t like it. I don’t like any of this.”
“Noted.”
She turns toward the door, then pauses with her hand on the knob. When she speaks again, her voice is cold.
“This isn’t over.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to fight you on this. Every step of the way.”
I allow myself a small smile. “I’m counting on it.”
She yanks open the door and storms out without another word. I watch her go, noting the rigid set of her shoulders and the fury in her stride. Even angry, even scared, she moves with purpose. Like a woman who refuses to be broken.
