We'd been married for eighteen months when I got the call.
"Elena? It's Agent Morrison. We have a situation."
My blood went cold. "What kind of situation?"
"Marco was arrested. Your former contact from the Morelli organization. He's willing to testify about your involvement in Antonio and Giulia Morelli's deaths in exchange for immunity."
The world tilted.
"What?"
"He has evidence. Photos, communications, timelines. Enough to charge you with double homicide."
"But—but I had immunity. We had a deal—"
"That deal was predicated on you testifying against the organization. Which you did. But Marco's arguing that you lied about being coerced, that you acted independently as an assassin. Different crime, different jurisdiction."
Dante took the phone from my shaking hands.
"What are her options?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.
"She can run. We can relocate her again, deeper this time. Or she can stay and fight the charges. But I have to warn you—Marco's evidence is solid. If this goes to trial, she's looking at life in prison."
Dante hung up.
We stared at each other.
"Pack a bag," he said. "We're leaving."
"Dante, I can't run forever—"
"Then we fight. Together." He cupped my face. "Whatever happens, we face it together. That's what we promised."
---
We hired a lawyer. The best defense attorney money could buy.
But the evidence was damning.
The trial was set for six months out.
Six months to prepare. To say goodbye to the life we'd built.
To accept that I might spend the rest of my life in prison.
---
"I should have told you," Marco said when I visited him in jail. "Should have warned you I kept evidence."
"Why didn't you?"
"Insurance. In case I ever needed leverage." He looked genuinely remorseful. "I never wanted to use it. But they offered me a deal I couldn't refuse."
"How much?" I asked bitterly. "How much is my life worth?"
"Full immunity. Witness protection. A clean slate." He met my eyes. "I'm sorry, Elena. But I've got kids. A family. I can't go to prison."
I understood. Hated him for it, but understood.
We all did what we had to do to survive.
---
The months before the trial were strange.
We lived like we were already saying goodbye. Made love like it was the last time. Held each other like we could stop time through sheer will.
"I can't lose you again," Dante said one night. "I can't survive it."
"You survived five years without me."
"Barely. And that was knowing you were out there, living, waiting for me." His voice broke. "If you go to prison—if I can't even write to you—"
"Then
We'd been married for eighteen months when I got the call.
"Elena? It's Agent Morrison. We have a situation."
My blood went cold. "What kind of situation?"
"Marco was arrested. Your former contact from the Morelli organization. He's willing to testify about your involvement in Antonio and Giulia Morelli's deaths in exchange for immunity."
The world tilted.
"What?"
"He has evidence. Photos, communications, timelines. Enough to charge you with double homicide."
"But—but I had immunity. We had a deal—"
"That deal was predicated on you testifying against the organization. Which you did. But Marco's arguing that you lied about being coerced, that you acted independently as an assassin. Different crime, different jurisdiction."
Dante took the phone from my shaking hands.
"What are her options?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.
"She can run. We can relocate her again, deeper this time. Or she can stay and fight the charges. But I have to warn you—Marco's evidence is solid. If this goes to trial, she's looking at life in prison."
Dante hung up.
We stared at each other.
"Pack a bag," he said. "We're leaving."
"Dante, I can't run forever—"
"Then we fight. Together." He cupped my face. "Whatever happens, we face it together. That's what we promised."
---
We hired a lawyer. The best defense attorney money could buy.
But the evidence was damning.
The trial was set for six months out.
Six months to prepare. To say goodbye to the life we'd built.
To accept that I might spend the rest of my life in prison.
---
"I should have told you," Marco said when I visited him in jail. "Should have warned you I kept evidence."
"Why didn't you?"
"Insurance. In case I ever needed leverage." He looked genuinely remorseful. "I never wanted to use it. But they offered me a deal I couldn't refuse."
"How much?" I asked bitterly. "How much is my life worth?"
"Full immunity. Witness protection. A clean slate." He met my eyes. "I'm sorry, Elena. But I've got kids. A family. I can't go to prison."
I understood. Hated him for it, but understood.
We all did what we had to do to survive.
---
The months before the trial were strange.
We lived like we were already saying goodbye. Made love like it was the last time. Held each other like we could stop time through sheer will.
"I can't lose you again," Dante said one night. "I can't survive it."
"You survived five years without me."
"Barely. And that was knowing you were out there, living, waiting for me." His voice broke. "If you go to prison—if I can't even write to you—"
"Then you'll move on. You'll find someone else—"
"There is no one else!" He was shaking. "There's only ever been you. From the moment I saw you at that auction, there's only been you."
"Dante—"
"If you go to prison, I'll wait. I don't care if it's ten years, twenty years, fifty years. I'll wait."
"You can't put your life on hold for me—"
"Watch me."