Per birth certificate Det. Mark Russo DOB: 12/10/1974 given name: Marco Antonio Russo.
“Little sparrow.” I take Aria’s small hand in mine, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. "It's time. I need you to tell me everything about you and DetectiveMarcoRusso.”
Chapter 8
Aria
I knew it was coming. I knew I’d eventually have to spill the tea about my situation, but Hawk's words hit me like a bucket of ice water.
My body stiffens, and I meet his gaze. His eyes bore into mine, patient but unyielding. No escape.
This magical bubble we've been in—the fall colors, the ducks in the pond, his mouth on me, bringing me to heights I never knew existed—it's about to pop.
I tuck my knees to my chest, making myself small. "How much do you already know?"
"Enough to know he's the one who put these bruises on you." Hawk's jaw tightens, a muscle twitching beneath his stubbled skin. "Enough to know he's looking for you. The rest? I need to hear from you."
The weight of his gaze makes me look down at my hands. They're trembling. I clasp them together to hide it.
"My uncle Vincent owed Marco a favor for something—I don’t know what, but it was big." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. “And I was the payment."
Hawk's entire body goes rigid. "The payment," he repeats, the words coming out like crushed glass.
I nod, throat tightening as memories flood back. "Uncle Vincent raised me after my parents died, but he never wanted a child. I was a burden. An inconvenience." I trace a pattern on the blanket, unable to meet Hawk's eyes. "Two months ago, he called me into his study and told me I was getting married. To Marco. A man I'd known my whole life as my uncle's friend."
Hawk mutters something under his breath that sounds like "motherfucker."
"I didn't argue at first," I continue, shame heating my cheeks. "I was...lonely. So desperately lonely. I thought maybe having a husband would mean having someone to talk to. Someone who might actually see me."
"And then?" Hawk prompts when I fall silent, his large hand covering mine.
I take a deep, shuddering breath, gathering my courage. “A week ago, Marco came to the house when my uncle was out. He'd never been alone with me before. He said...he said since we were getting married, we should get to know each other better."
The memory makes my skin crawl. I hug myself tighter, trying to ward off the chill it evokes.
"He tried to kiss me. I wasn't really ready for it.” I think back to that moment and shudder when I remember how his breath smelled like blue cheese and baloney. “I don't know, I guess I flinched.” My fingers unconsciously touch my cheek where Marco’s slap landed. "He didn't like that at all. He slapped me across the face, hard, and called me a prick tease."
Hawk's breathing changes, becoming deeper, controlled, like he's fighting to keep his emotions contained.
"I sat there stunned. I didn't know what to say or do, especially when this expression came over his face. He looked so angry. Like he wanted to hurt me. I was petrified with fear."I twitch, remembering Marco's eyes that night. "Looking back, if his police scanner hadn't gone off at that moment, I think he might have beaten me then or…even raped me."
Hawk shifts closer, pulling me against his side, his warmth seeping into me. The protective gesture gives me the courage to continue.
"That was when I knew I had to end it. I couldn't marry this man. I wouldn't tie myself to him for the rest of our lives." My voice cracks. "But...well, you saw what happened when I tried to give back the engagement ring."
"The night I found you in the mansion," Hawk says, his voice unnaturally calm. "That was the night you gave back the ring? The night you broke it off?"
I nod, a tear slipping down my cheek. "He came to the house again. I told him I couldn't marry him. He laughed at first, like I'd told a joke. When he realized I was serious, he...he exploded."
I don't need to describe the beating. Hawk’s seen the evidence. I look up at Hawk through tear-blurred vision. "I didn't know where to go. Everyone in this town knows him. He's got connections everywhere."
Hawk brushes away a tear with his thumb, his touch gentle despite the rage hardening his features. "Russo is a dead man walking."
My blood runs cold. "What?"
"He's going to die for what he did to you." It's not a threat or even a promise. It's a simple statement of fact, delivered with the same certainty someone might say the sky is blue.
"Hawk, no." I grab his arm, panic rising in my chest. "You can't. He's a detective. He'll have you arrested."
