EMMA POV
"Your father thinks I'm the informant," I said.
Marcus was already grabbing his jacket. "We need to go. Now."
"I didn't do anything."
"I know. But you need to prove it to him. And Anthony doesn't ask nicely."
My heart was racing. Three federal raids. Simultaneous. Someone had tipped off the prosecutors with detailed information about warehouse locations and operations.
And I was the newest person with access to that information.
"Marcus, I swear—"
"Save it for my father. He's the one you need to convince."
Twenty minutes later, we walked into Anthony Russo's office. The same office where I'd negotiated my marriage five days ago. It felt like a lifetime.
Anthony sat behind his desk. Three other men stood around the room. Soldiers. Enforcers. Men who hurt people for a living.
"Emma," Anthony said. His voice was ice. "Sit."
I sat. Marcus stood beside me. His hand rested on the back of my chair. I didn't know if he was supporting me or making sure I couldn't run.
"Three warehouses raided this morning," Anthony said. "Federal agents knew exactly where to look. Knew what operations were running. Knew which days we'd have maximum inventory. That information came from inside this organization."
"It wasn't me," I said.
"You've had access to operational details for less than a week. The raids happened this morning. Coincidence?"
"Yes. Because I haven't spoken to anyone outside this family. I haven't made phone calls. I haven't sent emails. Check my phone. Check my laptop. I have nothing to hide."
Anthony gestured. One of the soldiers approached. Took my phone. Took my laptop. Walked away to examine them.
"While we wait," Anthony said, "let's discuss your legal work. The motion you filed yesterday. Tell me about it."
My brain scrambled. He was testing me. Seeing if I actually knew what I'd written or if someone else had helped me.
"Federal contractor case," I said. "Assault charges where Russo interests were implicated. The prosecution filed seven months after the original incident. Massachusetts statute of limitations for that assault classification is six months. The case should have been dismissed on procedural grounds. Your attorney missed it because he was focused on arguing reasonable doubt instead of arguing procedure."
"And you found this in one night."
"I found it in twenty minutes. It took me the rest of the night to draft the motion properly."
Anthony studied me. "The judge ruled this morning. Case dismissed. Exactly as you predicted. My organization just saved three million in legal exposure and kept one of our most valuable contractors out of prison. All because of your motion."
I didn't know if that was praise or accusation.
The soldier returned. "Phone's clean. Laptop's clean. No communication with anyone outside the family. No suspicious searches. Nothing."
Anthony waved him away. He looked at Marcus. "Your wife is either innocent or extremely careful."
"She's innocent," Marcus said. His voice was firm. Final. Like he was stating fact instead of opinion.
Anthony raised an eyebrow. "You're certain."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because if Emma wanted to destroy us, she'd have done it smarter. She'd have built credibility first. Gathered information for months. She wouldn't tip her hand within a week of access. She's too intelligent for that."
I realized what Marcus was doing. He was defending me. Not because his father ordered it. Because he believed me.
Anthony leaned back in his chair. "Then we have a bigger problem. Someone else is the informant. Someone who's been inside this organization long enough to know operational details. Someone we trust."
"I'll find them," Marcus said.
"You'll do more than that. You'll make an example. But first—" Anthony looked at me. "Your motion earned you a chance to prove yourself further. I have twelve active cases. All complex. All expensive. I want you to review every single one. Find the weaknesses. Fix what can be fixed. Show me that this morning's win wasn't luck."
He slid a stack of folders across the desk. Thick files. Years of legal battles.
"You have three days," Anthony said. "Make yourself indispensable."
We left his office. Marcus was silent during the elevator ride. Silent in the car. Silent until we were back in the penthouse.
Then he turned to me.
"Thank you," I said before he could speak. "For defending me in there."
"I wasn't defending you. I was stating facts."
"You believed me without proof."
Marcus poured himself a drink. "I've spent my life reading people. Knowing who's lying and who's telling the truth. You're a terrible liar, Emma. If you'd betrayed us, I would have seen it."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
"It's survival. In this world, people who can lie convincingly are dangerous. People who can't lie are either dead or too stupid to be in this business. You're neither. You're honest because you've calculated that honesty is your best strategy."
He was right. I'd decided the first night that lying would get me killed. The truth, as terrifying as it was, kept me alive.
Marcus set the folders on the table. "Three days. Twelve cases. My father wasn't exaggerating. Make yourself indispensable or become expendable."
I opened the first folder. Started reading.
The next three days blurred together. I slept four hours a night. Ate meals at the table while reading case files. Drank coffee until my hands shook.
Marcus worked beside me. Not helping exactly. But present. He'd bring me food without asking. Refill my coffee. Sit across from me reviewing his own files while I worked through mine.
We barely spoke. But something was building between us. Something that felt like partnership.
On the third morning, I finished the last case. Twelve files. Twelve strategies. Some could be won through procedural arguments. Some needed settlement negotiations. Two needed to be abandoned entirely because the exposure was too great.
I compiled everything into a report. Handed it to Marcus.
He read for an hour. Then he looked up.
"This is brilliant," he said quietly.
"It's thorough."
"It's more than thorough. You just potentially saved us forty million dollars in legal exposure. You found angles our attorneys missed. You identified which battles we can win and which ones we should walk away from. This is—" He stopped. "You're not just useful. You're essential."
The word hit differently when Marcus said it. Not like Anthony's cold calculation. Like something else. Like respect.
"I should call my father," Marcus said. But he didn't move. He just kept looking at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. I just—" He stopped again. Then: "You're not what I expected."
"What did you expect?"
"Someone weaker. Someone who'd break under pressure. Someone who'd need constant protection and supervision. You're none of those things."
"Disappointed?"
"No. The opposite."
Something shifted in the air between us. Something dangerous and electric and completely inappropriate given that we were strangers forced into marriage.
Marcus stood abruptly. "I'll take this to my father. He'll want to see you personally. You should change into something—" He gestured vaguely. "Professional."
He left before I could respond.
I sat alone in the penthouse trying to process what had just happened. Marcus Russo, the man who'd married me like I was a business transaction, had just looked at me like I was a person. Like I mattered.
I told myself it meant nothing. He was just surprised I was competent. Nothing more.
But late that night, after Anthony had reviewed my report and officially welcomed me into the organization, after Marcus had brought home three more cases for me to analyze, after we'd worked side by side until 2 AM, I admitted the truth to myself.
I didn't want to leave.
Not the penthouse. Not the work. Not Marcus.
Somewhere in the chaos of forced marriage and legal strategy and survival, I'd stopped seeing this as temporary. I'd stopped planning my escape.
I'd started building a life here.
That realization terrified me more than anything Anthony Russo could do.
I went to bed thinking about Marcus. About the way he'd defended me to his father. About the way he brought me coffee without asking. About the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention.
I fell asleep and dreamed about being free. About walking out of this penthouse and never looking back.
But in the dream, I was crying.
Because freedom meant leaving Marcus behind.
I woke at 3 AM to my phone ringing. Unknown number.
I answered without thinking. "Hello?"
"Emma Cole?" The voice was male. Rough. Not Marcus or James or anyone I recognized.
"Who is this?"
"A friend. I know you didn't give the feds information about the warehouses. But I know who did. And if you want to keep your husband alive, you need to listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you."