The Don’s Silent witness

Chapter 3

The First Morning

She didn't sleep that night. She sat curled against the headboard for hours, listening to every footstep in the hallway, every creak of the house settling around her, certain the door would open again at any moment.

By the time gray morning light crept through the curtains, exhaustion won out over fear, and she must have drifted off without meaning to, because a knock at the door startled her awake.

A woman walked in without waiting for permission. She looked to be in her early twenties, dark hair pulled back into a sharp ponytail, studying Elena with open curiosity.

"So you're the librarian," the woman said.

Elena sat up straighter. "Who are you?"

"Lena. Damian's sister." Her head tilted slightly. "You don't look like the type he usually deals with."

"I'm not dealing with anything. I got dragged here against my will."

"I know." Something in Lena's expression softened. "He told me what happened last night. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. This isn't exactly how I pictured meeting a future sister-in-law."

The word landed hard in Elena's stomach. "This marriage isn't going to actually happen."

"It's happening," Lena said, not unkindly. "My brother doesn't say things he doesn't mean. If there was another way around this, believe me, he would have found it already. He's not thrilled about it either, if that helps at all."

"Then why go through with it?"

Lena shrugged, like the answer was obvious. "Because a witness who won't talk is a lot safer than a witness who might. A wife legally can't be forced to speak against her husband in court, and even if she tried, no one believes a woman who married the man she's accusing." She said it plainly, the way someone recites a fact they've known their whole life. "It's cold, but it's smart."

Elena pressed both hands against her eyes. "This can't actually be happening."

"It's very real," Lena said. "Get dressed. There's a lot you need to understand before the wedding, and we don't have much time to cover it."

"How much time?"

Lena glanced at her phone, unbothered by the question.

"Four days."

Elena's stomach dropped straight through the floor. Four days to somehow accept a life that had been chosen for her without a single word of her own consent, married to a man who had held a gun to her head less than twelve hours earlier.

And somewhere out there, she was beginning to understand, the man he had killed in that library had belonged to someone else. Someone who would want to know exactly who Damian Cross had married in such a hurry, and why…

Marcus was waiting in the sitting room when Elena finally came downstairs, dressed in clothes Lena had picked out for her, nothing like anything she'd have chosen for herself. He didn't smile at her. He barely looked at her at all before turning to Damian, who stood by the window with his back to the room.

"She's a risk," Marcus said, as if Elena weren't standing right there listening to every word. "You know that better than anyone."

"I'm aware," Damian said.

"And you're doing this anyway."

"It's handled."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "Petrov's men are already asking around about their missing courier. If word gets out that you took a witness instead of cleaning up the scene properly—"

"It won't get out." Damian finally turned to face the room, his eyes settling on Elena. "Will it."

It wasn't really a question, and she understood that. She shook her head slowly, aware now that every word out of her mouth carried more weight than she was used to.

"No," she said. "It won't."

Marcus studied her for a long moment, clearly not convinced, before walking out without another word. His footsteps faded down the hall, unhurried, deliberate, the walk of a man who had already made up his mind about her and was simply waiting for proof.

"He doesn't trust me," Elena said once the door closed.

"He doesn't trust anyone," Damian said. "It's the reason he's still alive."

"And you? Do you trust me?"

Damian crossed the room slowly, stopping close enough that she had to tip her head back to keep looking at him. Up close, she noticed things she hadn't in the dark of the car the night before. A faint scar near his jaw. The way his eyes never quite settled, always tracking the room even while talking to her.

"No," he said. "But you're smart enough to know what happens if you give me a reason to regret this arrangement. So I don't need to trust you. I just need you afraid enough to behave."

Her throat tightened, but she held his gaze anyway, something stubborn inside her refusing to be the first to look away.

"And if I'm not afraid?"

Something flickered behind his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or the beginning of an interest he clearly hadn't planned on feeling.

"Then we'll have a problem," he said quietly. "One I'd rather not deal with this week."

He walked out before she could respond, leaving her alone in the sitting room with her pulse still racing for reasons that had nothing to do with fear anymore, and everything to do with the fact that she couldn't quite explain what had just happened between them.

She was still standing there when she noticed the study door down the hall, left open just a crack, light spilling out into the dim corridor.