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I hug myself, suddenly cold. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re an easy target. Marco Bianchi’s wife.” His lips curl around the word wife like he enjoys the sound of it. “Do you have any idea what that means in my world?”

I shake my head, a queasy feeling spreading through my stomach.

“It means there are people who would hurt you to get to me. Enemies of mine. There are people who hate your sister and have wrongfully assumed you’re her. You’re in danger all around.” He now grips my shoulders. “Why would you put yourself in that position? For a sister who was willing to sacrifice you?”

“It wasn’t like that,” I say, though a small voice in my head wonders if it was exactly like that. “And you don’t know anything about us.”

“Then tell me.”

The command hangs in the air between us. I study his face, trying to read his intentions.

Those deep green eyes reveal nothing.

“Why should I trust you with anything?”

He shrugs one broad shoulder. “Because I’m the only one who can protect you now, and I can’t do my job without knowing everything. You need to tell me why you’d do this for her. What’s she holding over you?”

The worst part is, I know he’s right. I close my eyes briefly, feeling worn thin by secrets and fear.

“Our parents died when we were babies,” I start, the words coming slowly at first. “No other family wanted us. We bounced around the foster system. Some homes were okay. Most weren’t.”

Marco says nothing, just watches me with those unreadable eyes.

“Chiara was always the strong one. When foster parents would…” I swallow hard, the memory tightening in my throat. “When they got violent, she’d put herself between them and me. She took the beatings that were meant for me—every bruise, every scar—so I wouldn’t have to.”

My voice cracks, and I’m surprised to feel wetness on my cheeks. I dash away the tears impatiently.

“We promised each other we’d always stick together. That we’d do whatever it took to protect each other.” I meet his gaze defiantly. “So yes, when she called me terrified about the deal she made, I offered to take her place. I didn’t think twice.”

Marco is still. For a moment, I think I see something like respect in his eyes, but it’s gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

“If you’d told me the truth from the beginning,” he says finally, “I could have protected both of you.”

I laugh, bitter and sharp. “Yeah, maybe I should’ve started with, ‘Hi, I’m actually Aria, not Chiara—so please don’t kill us.’”

“Yes.” His voice is deadly serious.

“You don’t seriously believe that,” I argue. “Chiara was petrified of you. Of your power. You weren’t exactly a comforting shoulder for her, were you? We thought there would be consequences.”

His mouth quirks in one corner, not quite a smile. “And yet, here you stand. Unharmed, despite your deception.”

The observation hangs between us. He’s right—he hasn’t hurt me, even after discovering I’m not the woman he arranged to marry. I don’t understand why, and that uncertainty is its own kind of fear.

“And now your lies have consequences. D’Angelo knows something is off. He’s been watching too closely.”

“D’Angelo?” My voice squeaks with fear.

Marco steps closer. “Yes. The man who sent those thugs to your house. The man your sister owed money to. He believes I interfered by taking away his little plaything, and he’s furious.He’s not a man you want attention from.”

I press myself against the window, wishing I could melt through it.

“That trick of yours endangered more than your sister—it put both of you at risk. D’Angelo will use any weakness against me, and you’ve just handed him one gift-wrapped.”

“What happens now?” I whisper.

Marco’s hand shoots out so quickly that I don’t have time to flinch. His fingers wrap around my throat, not squeezing, justholding me in place. His thumb traces my jawline in a gesture that could almost be tender.