From ashes to fire

Wearing it like an armor

*Livia*

The courthouse is already crowded when we arrive.

People move through the marble lobby in damp coats, carrying manila folders and plastic bags full of documents. A mother bounces a sleeping toddler against her shoulder near the security line. Two men argue in Spanish over a parking ticket. An exhausted clerk drinks coffee from a paper cup behind a thick sheet of glass.

Normal lives, breaking or joining or being settled in public.

Nico walks beside me, close enough that I feel the heat of him through his shirt, far enough that our arms do not touch.

Elio stays behind us.

There are no visible guns. That does not make me think there are none.

A woman with copper-brown skin and silver at her temples waits near the elevators, holding a leather briefcase against her hip. She wears a navy suit and practical black boots. When she sees me, she does not look at Nico first.

"Ms. Rossie?" she asks.

"Liv is fine."

"Avital Shah." Her handshake is firm, quick. "Before we do anything, you and I are going upstairs. Alone."

Nico says, "We have limited time."

Shah turns her head. "Then perhaps you should have made the system less urgent before you invited your client to marry into organized crime."

Elio makes a small sound that might be appreciation.

Nico's expression does not shift. "Point taken."

Shah leads me into a small conference room with a dented table, three plastic chairs, and a window overlooking the gray street. She shuts the door behind us.

For a moment, I stand there with my arms wrapped around myself while Shah opens her briefcase.

"I have reviewed the draft contract," she says. "I requested changes. Mr. Moretti accepted them."

"Of course he did. He has an emergency."

"He had an emergency before I requested changes." She slides papers across the table.

The contract is longer than I expected. Page after page of legal language. My name printed in clean black letters beside Nico's.

LIVIA ROSSIE.

NICOLO MORETTI.

I stare at them until the room blurs.

Shah points to a paragraph.

"The marriage term is exactly three years from execution. Thirty-six calendar months. It expires automatically at midnight on the third anniversary. No renewal occurs unless you choose one, in writing, after the expiration date."

"After?"

"After. Not before."

My throat tightens.

She turns the page. "Separate assets. Separate counsel. A personal trust in your name that he cannot access. You may leave any Moretti property at any time. You may contact anyone you wish. No s****l obligation, no public-behavior obligation outside ordinary legal appearance as his spouse."

"Ordinary legal appearance?"

"Public events, if you agree to attend. No forced intimacy. No shared bedroom requirement. No pregnancy clause, thank God."

Despite myself, I let out a sound that is almost a laugh.

Shah's mouth softens for half a second.

"Medical assistance is here," she says, tapping another section. "You may offer the pressure-point care you described. You may refuse every time. Nobody may physically compel you to assist him."

I read the words twice.

"They put that in a marriage contract?"

"I made them."

"What does he get if I leave early?"

"Nothing from you. The contract terminates if he threatens, confines, assaults, surveils you without your consent, or interferes with your access to counsel."

My eyes lift to hers.

"Does he know that?"

"He signed the revised draft an hour ago."

A knot under my ribs shifts, not loosening exactly. Changing shape.

Shah watches me carefully.

"Liv, this is not a recommendation," she says. "You can refuse. The emergency petition may still be fought. It will be difficult, and I cannot promise how quickly we stop it. Mr. Moretti has resources. That does not make him safe by default."

"No," I say. "It doesn't."

"Do you believe he will honor this?"

I think of his hand leaving my arm the second Rafe called him out. I think of the car lock, his voice saying no when I demanded it open. I think of him telling Elio to place guards near Mama, then changing the order when I objected.

"I believe he thinks he will," I say.

Shah nods slowly. "That is an honest answer."

My phone vibrates on the table.

The clean phone Elio gave me.

A message fills the screen from an unknown number.

A photograph.

Mama sits in her wheelchair by the window of her facility, a blanket tucked over her knees. She is staring down at a vase of orchids on the table beside her.

White orchids.

My breath stops.

Below the photograph, Enzo has written:

‘Your mother always did look lonely in those places. Please come home before she gets confused too.’

My hands shake hard enough that the phone rattles against the tabletop.

Shah reaches for it, then stops before touching it. "Is that Vitale?"

I nod.

The room narrows around me.

He found Mama. He wants me to know he can stand outside her window, send flowers through a nurse, turn her into a message.

I think of his petition. His concern. The way he will tell everyone I am sick if I raise my voice.

I pick up the phone and take a screenshot.

Then another.

"Can you save this?" I ask Shah.

"Yes."

"Can you make sure he cannot say I made it up?"

"I can preserve it. We will need more."

More.

There is always more.

Shah gathers the contract pages into a neat stack.

"You do not have to decide this second."

I look through the window at the street below. A woman in a red coat drags a little boy toward a bus. He is crying because she will not let him jump in puddles. She keeps walking anyway.

Three years.

I want to run. I want to find Mama, steal her out of that building, get on a train with no destination and never let anybody in a dark suit ask me a question again.

Enzo has made running into a road with no exits.

So I take the pen Shah offers me.

"Let's do it," I say.

When we return to the marriage office, Nico is waiting outside the door.

He has put his jacket back on. His face is controlled, but his hands are bare at his sides. No rosary. No phone. Nothing to hide behind.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

The question is quiet.

I look at him.

"No."

He nods once. "Do you want to proceed?"

My mouth is dry.

"Yes."

His gaze holds mine for one long second. Then he opens the door and steps aside.

Inside, the clerk barely looks up from her computer.

The ceremony takes six minutes.

A witness signs. Elio signs another line with his jaw clenched. Shah stands beside me, close enough that I can see her reflection in the polished wood of the desk.

Nico says his name.

I say mine.

Then the clerk asks whether I take Nicolo Moretti as my husband.

The room tilts.

My hands are ice cold. I can hear the faint click of the clerk's keyboard. A siren wails somewhere outside, growing louder, then fading.

I look at Nico.

He does not reach for me.

"I do," I say.

The ring is simple white gold, something I would actually choose myself. Nico slides it onto my finger with a touch so brief it barely counts as contact.

The metal settles against my skin.

The clerk stamps the certificate.

"Congratulations," she says, already reaching for the next file.

Outside, cameras flash.

I stop in the courthouse doorway.

Two reporters wait behind the barrier near the steps. Moretti security has formed a loose wall, but the reporters are close enough that I can hear them calling Nico's name.

"Mr. Moretti, is this marriage connected to the Vitale Foundation incident?"

"Mrs. Moretti, were you removed from the St. Clair Hotel against your will?"

The name hits me harder than the flashes.

Mrs. Moretti.

My stomach turns.

Nico steps in front of me, blocking the cameras without touching me.

"She has no statement," he says.

A reporter raises her voice. "Is Ms. Rossie receiving treatment for a mental health crisis?"

The world goes silent around the question.

Nico's head turns.

His eyes are flat and dark.

"It is Mrs Moretti and my wife is not your story," he says.

Then he looks at me over his shoulder. "Car?"

I could say no.

I could walk down the courthouse steps alone, ring on my finger, Enzo's men somewhere in the city, Mama's photograph burning behind my eyes.

Instead, I nod.

Nico guides the security detail away from me with a glance. He leaves a clear space at my side.

I walk through it under the cameras, wearing his name like armor I never wanted.