Chapter 3 - The Enemy at the Table
Niko refused to tell me what the photograph meant.
That made me furious.
"You married me."
"Yes."
"Then I'm entitled to know why my father was meeting your uncle."
"Not yet."
I crossed my arms.
"That's convenient."
"It's dangerous."
"So is keeping me ignorant."
He looked at me.
"You don't understand the world you're standing in."
"Then teach me."
He said nothing.
I stepped closer.
"I'm not your prisoner."
"No."
"Then stop treating me like one."
Something flashed in his eyes.
Respect.
Maybe.
"You really don't know when to stop."
"No."
He smiled faintly.
"I've noticed."
That afternoon, Niko took me to his family estate in Westchester.
The house looked like a museum.
Stone walls.
Iron gates.
Men with earpieces.
Inside, his mother, Isabella, greeted me warmly.
"Niko has told us very little."
"Because he talks very little."
His mother laughed.
"I like you."
Across the dining room, a man watched us.
Marco.
Niko's uncle.
His smile was pleasant.
His eyes were not.
"So this is Arthur Shaw's daughter."
I nodded.
"Elena."
"Beautiful."
"Thank you."
He lifted his wineglass.
"Your father has excellent taste."
Niko stepped between us.
"Enough."
Marco smiled.
"Protective already?"
Niko's expression hardened.
"She's my wife."
Something strange passed between them.
I noticed.
At dinner, Marco told stories about Niko's childhood.
How reckless he'd been.
How violent.
How difficult.
Niko said nothing.
But when Marco mentioned Niko's older brother, Gabriel, the entire table went silent.
"What happened to him?" I asked.
Niko's mother looked down.
Niko answered.
"He died."
"How?"
"Car accident."
Marco smiled sadly.
"Tragic."
But I saw Niko's hand tighten around his glass.
Something was wrong.
After dinner, Niko took me upstairs.
"Why did everyone become uncomfortable when Gabriel was mentioned?"
He stopped.
"You notice everything."
"I study law."
"That explains it."
"Niko."
He sighed.
"Gabriel's death wasn't an accident."
My stomach dropped.
"What happened?"
"He was investigating someone inside the family."
"Who?"
"We never found out."
"Your uncle?"
His eyes sharpened.
"Don't accuse people without proof."
"You're avoiding the question."
"I don't trust Marco."
That was enough.
On the drive home, I received a message from my father.
Do not trust the Santoros.
I showed Niko.
He stared at it.
Then his phone rang.
My father's number.
Niko answered.
"Arthur."
My father's voice was tense.
"I need to speak with my daughter."
"You can."
"Alone."
"No."
"She is my daughter."
"And my wife."
Silence.
Then my father said:
"Niko, you don't understand what you married into."
Niko's expression changed.
"I think I do."
The call ended.
I stared at him.
"What did he mean?"
Niko looked at me.
"Your father knows more than he's told you."
I didn't sleep that night.
The next morning, I went to my father's office.
He looked startled when I arrived.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I want the truth."
"About what?"
"Marco Santoro."
His face went pale.
"Elena..."
"You made me marry Niko because of something involving him."
"No."
"Then tell me why."
My father closed the office door.
"I owe money."
"How much?"
"Enough."
"To Marco?"
He didn't answer.
"To Marco?"
"Yes."
My heart sank.
"What did you do?"
He sat down.
"Five years ago, I accepted campaign money."
"Illegal money?"
"Yes."
"And you promised what?"
"Political favors."
I stared at him.
"You sold your office."
"I was desperate."
"And now?"
"Marco wanted more."
"What?"
My father looked at me.
"You."
I couldn't breathe.
"What?"
"He wanted access to our family."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
A voice behind me answered.
"I do."
I turned.
Niko stood in the doorway.
My father looked terrified.
Niko walked in slowly.
"Because Marco believes the Shaws possess something that can destroy the Santoro organization."
I stared at him.
"What?"
Niko looked at my father.
"Tell her."
My father closed his eyes.
Then whispered:
"Your grandfather kept records."
"Records of what?"
"Everything."
Niko's voice became cold.
"Politicians. Judges. Police officers. Businesses."
My father swallowed.
"And Marco wants those records."
I looked between them.
"Where are they?"
Neither answered.
Then my father said:
"With you."
I froze.
"What?"
He pointed toward my necklace.
"The pendant your grandmother gave you."
I touched it.
The little silver locket I'd worn since I was sixteen.
"What about it?"
"It's not jewelry."
Niko stepped closer.
"Open it."
My hands trembled.
I pressed the hidden clasp.
The pendant opened.
Inside was a tiny memory card.
And suddenly I understood.
May you like
My marriage had never been about my father's debt.
It had been about what I unknowingly carried around my neck.
