ISABELLE POV
The broken glass on the floor doesn't matter anymore.
Isabelle stares at Marco Russo standing in her kitchen like he belongs there. Like he's actually a federal officer. Like he didn't murder someone in cold blood while she watched.
"You're bleeding," he says, nodding at her foot.
She looks down. Blood pools around her bare heel where the glass cut through skin. She can't feel it. Terror has numbed everything except her racing heart.
"I'll get the first aid kit," Morrison says from the doorway. He's completely oblivious. He has no idea he just handed her over to the enemy.
Marco's eyes stay on hers. There's something in his expression she can't read. Not quite a threat. Not quite reassurance. Something in between that makes her skin feel too tight.
Morrison disappears down the hallway.
The silence stretches.
"Sit down before you pass out," Marco says quietly.
"Don't tell me what to do." Her voice comes out stronger than she expected. Good. She needs to be strong right now because strong people survive and weak people end up like the man in the warehouse.
Marco's mouth almost smiles. Almost. "Fair enough."
Morrison returns with the medical kit and hands it to Marco. "I'll finish the handoff paperwork with Chen and head out. Detective Russo has all the protocols."
No. Don't leave me alone with him.
But Isabelle can't say that without explaining why, and explaining why means admitting she knows who Marco really is, which means admitting she's been studying his face for six months, which means revealing that she's terrified.
Never show fear to predators. Her mother taught her that.
Morrison leaves.
Marco kneels in front of her with the first aid kit. She jerks her foot away.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he says.
"You're a liar."
"Yes." He doesn't deny it. "But I'm also the only person standing between you and a dozen Russo soldiers who want you dead. So let me clean the cut before it gets infected."
Her brain screams at her to run. Her body won't move. She's frozen in this moment, watching the man who's supposed to be her enemy kneel at her feet like he's someone safe.
He reaches for her ankle. His fingers are warm. Gentle. Wrong.
"Why are you here?" she whispers.
"Because my father sent me."
The honesty shocks her more than a lie would have.
Marco cleans the cut with careful precision. His hands are steady. Professional. These are the same hands that held a gun. The same hands that pulled a trigger. The same hands that ended a life.
"He sent you to kill me," Isabelle says.
"He sent me to make sure you never testify." Marco doesn't look up from bandaging her foot. "There's a difference."
"Not much of one."
"No," he agrees. "Not much."
Outside, she hears car engines starting. Morrison and Chen are leaving. The sound of their vehicles fading into the distance feels like hope dying.
The front door locks.
They're alone.
Marco finishes with the bandage and sits back on his heels. For the first time, she sees him clearly without the filter of photographs or grainy security footage. He's younger than she thought. Maybe twenty-nine. Maybe thirty. He has dark eyes that look tired and a face that would be beautiful if it wasn't attached to a killer.
"Here's what's going to happen," Marco says. His voice is still quiet but there's steel underneath. "You're going to stay in this house. I'm going to make sure nobody gets to you. Not my family. Not anyone."
"Until when?"
"Until the trial."
Isabelle laughs. The sound comes out broken. "You expect me to believe you're protecting me? You're a Russo. Your entire family wants me dead."
"I know."
"So why would you help me?"
Marco stands. He's tall. She hadn't realized how tall from the photographs. He moves to the kitchen window and stares out at the darkness.
"I don't have a good answer for that yet," he says finally. "My father thinks I'm here to seduce you. Gain your trust. Make you disappear before you can testify against the family."
Her stomach drops. "That's your plan."
"That was the plan." He turns to face her. "But plans change."
"Why?"
"Because I looked at your file." His jaw tightens. "You're twenty-six years old. You work as an accountant. Your mother died when you were nineteen. You have no criminal record. No connections to organized crime. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time and you did the right thing even though it cost you everything."
Isabelle's throat closes. She can't breathe.
"You don't belong in this world," Marco continues. "And I'm tired of destroying people who don't belong in it."
"So you're just going to protect me out of the goodness of your heart?" She hears the bitterness in her voice. "Forgive me if I don't believe in your sudden moral awakening."
"I don't expect you to believe anything." He crosses his arms. "But here's the truth. My father will send someone else if I fail. Someone who won't hesitate. Someone who won't care that you're innocent. So your options are limited."
"What are my options?"
"Trust me or die."
The words hang in the air between them like a death sentence.
Isabelle wants to scream. She wants to run. She wants to wake up from this nightmare where the monster is offering protection and calling it mercy.
"You killed someone," she says. Her voice shakes. "I saw you. I watched you murder that man in the warehouse."
Something crosses Marco's face. Pain, maybe. Or regret. "I know."
"How am I supposed to trust someone who kills people?"
"You're not." He moves closer. Not threatening. Just close enough that she can see the exhaustion in his eyes. "But you're going to have to make a choice about whether you believe I'm capable of being something other than what my family made me."
Her heart hammers against her ribs. "What if I don't believe that?"
"Then we're both in trouble."
The house settles around them. Old wood creaking. The refrigerator humming. Normal sounds in an absolutely insane situation.
"I need you to understand something," Marco says. "My family doesn't forgive. They don't forget. You identified me in a lineup. You agreed to testify. There's a price on your head that won't disappear just because the trial ends."
"I know that."
"So you need protection that goes beyond federal safe houses and witness relocation programs. You need someone who understands how the Russo family thinks. How they operate. How they kill."
"You."
"Me."
Isabelle studies his face, looking for the lie. Looking for the moment when the mask will drop and he'll become the killer she saw in the warehouse.
But all she sees is a man who looks as trapped as she feels.
"Why should I trust you?" she asks again.
Marco reaches into his jacket. She flinches.
He pulls out his phone and sets it on the kitchen counter between them. "Because if I wanted you dead, you'd already be dead. I had twelve opportunities since I walked through that door. I didn't take any of them."
The logic is terrifying because it's true.
"My father expects an update in the morning," Marco continues. "I'm going to tell him that I've secured the location and I'm working on gaining your trust. He'll believe me because that's what he expects to hear."
"And then what?"
"Then we have four weeks to figure out how to keep you alive."
"Four weeks," she repeats. "Until I testify."
"Until you testify and destroy my entire family." There's no anger in his voice. Just fact. "After that, you disappear. New name. New city. New life. I make sure the Russo family believes you're already dead. Clean break."
It sounds too simple. Too neat. Too much like a lie wrapped in hope.
"What do you get out of this?" Isabelle asks.
Marco's expression shifts. Something vulnerable flickers across his face before he locks it down. "I get to be something other than my father's weapon."
The answer feels true in a way that terrifies her.
She wants to argue. She wants to run. She wants to do anything except what she's about to do.
"Okay," she whispers.
"Okay?"
"I'll trust you." The words taste like poison. "For now."
Marco nods slowly. "That's all I'm asking."
He moves toward the living room, giving her space. Giving her the illusion of safety even though they both know she's trapped.
Isabelle stands alone in the kitchen, her bandaged foot throbbing, her mind racing.
She just agreed to trust the man she's supposed to testify against.
She just made a deal with a killer.
And the worst part is that somewhere deep in her gut, beneath the terror and the logic and the common sense screaming at her to run, she believes him.
God help her, she actually believes him.
Marco pauses in the doorway. "Get some sleep, Isabelle. You're safe tonight."
He uses her first name like he has the right.
She doesn't correct him.
The house falls quiet except for the sound of her heartbeat and the knowledge that everything just changed.
Four weeks until the trial.
Four weeks trapped with Marco Russo.
Four weeks to decide if the man protecting her is her salvation or the thing that will destroy her completely.