MARCO POV
Marco knows he's in trouble when he starts noticing the small things.
The way Isabelle tucks her hair behind her left ear when she's concentrating. The way she chews her bottom lip when she's anxious. The way she reads the same page of poetry three times like she's searching for hidden meaning.
He shouldn't notice these things.
He shouldn't care.
But he does, and that's the problem.
Three days have passed since Vivian's text. Three days of living in this safe house with a woman who's supposed to be dead. Three days of pretending he's still his father's loyal soldier when the truth is he stopped being loyal the moment he decided not to kill her.
The safe house has become a prison. Not for Isabelle, though she can't leave. For him.
Every phone call with his father is a performance. Every text message is calculated. Every moment is walking a tightrope between maintaining his cover and protecting the one person who's making him question everything he's ever been.
His phone rings at noon. Dominic Russo. Right on schedule.
Marco steps onto the back porch where Isabelle can't hear. Closes the door. Takes a breath.
"Status," his father says without greeting.
"She's secure. Trust is building."
"That's what you said two days ago."
"These things take time."
"We don't have time." Dominic's voice goes cold. "The trial date is approaching. I need results, not excuses."
Marco watches through the window as Isabelle moves through the kitchen. She's making lunch. Something simple. She's been cooking the past two days like it gives her purpose. Like pretending this is normal makes it bearable.
"I'm handling it," Marco says.
"Are you?" His father's skepticism cuts deep. "Or are you letting sentiment cloud your judgment?"
"There's no sentiment. She's an assignment."
"Then why is she still breathing?"
The question hangs in the air like a noose.
"Because making her disappear requires careful planning," Marco says smoothly. "If she dies now, federal authorities investigate. They look into who had access. Your inside connection gets exposed. Better to make it look natural. An accident. Something that doesn't point back to the family."
It's a good lie. Logical. Strategic. Exactly what his father would expect him to say.
"You have two days," Dominic says. "Then I want proof."
"What kind of proof?"
"Use your imagination."
The line goes dead.
Marco stands on the porch, gripping his phone hard enough to crack the screen. Two days. His father just cut the timeline in half.
He goes back inside. Isabelle is at the stove, stirring something that smells like tomato sauce. She glances at him.
"Your father?" she asks.
He's surprised she can read him that well already. "Yeah."
"What did he say?"
"Nothing good."
She nods and goes back to cooking. They've developed this rhythm over the past three days. She doesn't push when he's tense. He gives her space when she needs it. It's almost comfortable, which is the most dangerous thing of all.
Comfortable means attachment. Attachment means weakness. Weakness gets you killed in his world.
Marco sits at the kitchen table and watches her cook. He shouldn't be doing this. Shouldn't be watching her like she's someone who matters. Shouldn't be noticing the way the afternoon light catches her hair. Shouldn't be thinking about how different she is from everyone else in his life.
She's real. That's the difference. Everyone in the Russo family wears masks. Everyone performs. Everyone lies as naturally as breathing.
But Isabelle doesn't know how to be anything except herself. Even terrified and trapped, she's genuine. It's refreshing and terrifying in equal measure.
His burner phone buzzes. Tommy.
"Your sister is asking questions. Be careful."
Marco deletes the message and tries not to think about what Vivian is planning.
The afternoon passes slowly. Isabelle reads. Marco pretends to work on his laptop while actually monitoring security feeds and police communications. They exist in the same space without talking much, and somehow that silence feels more intimate than conversation.
Around 4 PM, his regular phone rings again.
Vivian.
Marco's stomach drops. He steps outside again. Answers.
"Little brother," Vivian says. Her voice is sugar-sweet poison. "How's the babysitting job?"
"It's handled."
"Is it? Because I'm hearing interesting things."
"What kind of things?"
"Like you've gone soft. Like you're playing house with the target instead of eliminating her." Vivian laughs. "Tell me it's not true, Marco. Tell me you haven't forgotten who you are."
"I know exactly who I am."
"Do you? Because Father is starting to wonder if you have the stomach for this. He's starting to think maybe I should take over."
There it is. The real reason for the call. Vivian wants his position. She's always wanted it. And she sees his hesitation as an opportunity.
"I don't need your help," Marco says.
"You sure about that? Because here's what I think is happening." Vivian's voice drops. "I think you're falling for her. I think you're letting emotion compromise the mission. And I think when Father calls you in for the test, you're going to fail."
"What test?"
"Oh, you don't know?" She sounds delighted. "He's not just going to let you kill her quietly, Marco. He's going to make you do it in front of witnesses. He's going to make you prove your loyalty in blood. And when you can't do it, when you hesitate, I'll be right there to finish what you couldn't."
The words hit like bullets.
"You know he's done this before, right?" Vivian continues. "Made someone kill the person they care about to prove loyalty. Remember Uncle Vincent? Remember what happened when he tried to protect that prosecutor?"
Marco remembers. His uncle shot himself rather than kill the woman he loved. His father had them both executed anyway.
"I'm not Uncle Vincent," Marco says.
"No? Then prove it. Two days, brother. That's all you have before Father brings you in. Make sure you're ready."
She hangs up.
Marco stands in the fading sunlight and tries to process what just happened. His father is setting a trap. A test designed to force Marco to choose between Isabelle and his family. And Vivian is waiting in the wings to take everything if he fails.
He goes back inside. Isabelle is in the living room now, curled up in the chair with her book. She looks up when he enters.
"That was your sister," she says. Not a question.
"You heard."
"Some of it." She sets down the book. "What test is she talking about?"
Marco could lie. Should lie. Protecting her from the truth would be the kind thing to do.
But kindness is a luxury they don't have anymore.
He sits on the couch across from her. Runs his hands through his hair. Tries to find words for something that has no good explanation.
"My father doesn't trust easily," he says. "When he gives someone an important job, he tests them. Makes sure they're committed."
"What kind of test?"
"The kind that proves loyalty beyond doubt." Marco meets her eyes. "He's going to call me in. Make me bring you to him. And then he's going to tell me to kill you in front of witnesses. Family members. Soldiers. People who will report back every detail."
The color drains from Isabelle's face.
"When?" she whispers.
"Two days."
She stands. Paces to the window. Her hands shake.
"So this whole thing was just buying time until the execution," she says. "You were never going to protect me. You were just delaying the inevitable."
"No." Marco stands too. "I'm not going to let that happen."
"How can you stop it? If your father orders you to kill me, what choice do you have?"
"I'll find a way."
"That's not an answer." Her voice rises. "That's hope disguised as a plan, and hope doesn't stop bullets."
She's right. He doesn't have a plan. He has two days to figure out how to save them both and absolutely no idea how to do it.
"I need to know something," Marco says quietly. "When the test comes, when I do whatever I have to do to keep you alive, I need to know if you're going to trust me."
"Trust you to do what?"
"Whatever it takes." He moves closer. "It's going to look bad. It's going to look like I'm betraying you. But I need you to believe that everything I do is to protect you, even if it doesn't look like protection."
Isabelle stares at him. "You're asking me to have faith in you."
"Yes."
"In a man who kills people for a living."
"Yes."
"In someone whose family wants me dead."
"Yes."
She laughs. The sound is broken. "That's insane."
"I know."
"I'd have to be crazy to agree to that."
"Probably."
Isabelle crosses her arms. Her eyes search his face like she's looking for proof that he's worth the risk.
"We're running out of time before my father brings the actual test," Marco tells her. "And I need to know if you're going to hate me when I do what I need to do to keep you alive."
The question hangs between them like a bridge over fire.
Her answer will determine everything.