Chapter 3 - The Price of a Name
Sarah stared at Enzo through the clear plastic of her oxygen mask, her sedated brain struggling to process his words.
"We... what?" she managed to slur, her breath fogging the plastic.
Enzo gestured to Marco, who immediately stepped out into the hallway and closed the door, leaving only Enzo, Toby, Leo, and Sarah in the room.
Enzo pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down, leaning his forearms on his knees. "I had to make a decision while you were in surgery," he explained, his tone measured and calm. "The man who shot you was working for Don Marcone. The Marcones don't leave witnesses. If they knew you were just a hotel server who saw the hitman’s face and recognized his lapel pin, they would have sent a crew to firebomb your Queens apartment."
Sarah’s eyes widened with panic. She looked at Toby. "Toby..."
"I'm fine, Sarah," Toby said quickly. "His men brought me here before anyone else could find me."
"I placed you under my personal protection," Enzo continued, his voice leaving no room for argument. "I told the police, the federal investigators, and the press that you and I have been secretly married for six months. I told them you were at the banquet as my guest, not an employee, and that you jumped in front of Leo because you are his stepmother."
Sarah pulled off her oxygen mask with a shaking hand, her throat raw. "Are you... out of your mind?! I don't know you! I carried your dinner tray two hours before I got shot!"
"I am well aware of our lack of history," Enzo replied dryly. "But that lie is currently the only reason there aren't three federal agents sitting in this room interrogating you, and it’s the only reason Don Marcone is treading carefully instead of sending a hit squad to finish you off."
"You used me," Sarah snapped, a flash of fiery anger breaking through her physical exhaustion. "You used my injury to cover up your own security failures!"
"I used my resources to save your life and protect your brother," Enzo corrected, leaning in closer, his dark eyes flashing with dangerous intensity. "You took three bullets for my son, Sarah. I owe you a debt that money cannot repay. But make no mistake—you are in the middle of a war now. The moment you saw that silver serpent pin, you became a participant."
Sarah gripped the hospital blanket, her mind racing. She thought about her tiny, damp apartment in Queens. She thought about her unpaid bills, her endless double shifts, and the constant fear of not being able to afford Toby’s insulin.
Then she looked at six-year-old Leo, who was sitting quietly in the corner armchair, hugging his red toy fire truck while watching her with wide, grateful eyes.
"What happens now?" Sarah asked, her voice raspy.
"Now, we play the part," Enzo said. "In two days, you will be discharged from this hospital and moved to my estate in Long Island. You will have your own private floor, a personal physician, and a dedicated security detail. Your brother will be enrolled in a private academy with full board."
"And in exchange?"
"In exchange, you act as my wife in public until I eliminate the Marcone threat," Enzo said flatly. "When the war is over, I will provide you with a clean identity, ten million dollars in a private trust, and complete freedom to go wherever you want in the world."
Sarah looked at Toby, who gave her a small, hesitant nod. Toby was safe. For the first time since their parents died, her brother had food, shelter, and medical care guaranteed.
She looked back at Enzo. "Ten million dollars?"
"Fifteen," Enzo adjusted without blinking. "For taking three bullets."
Sarah took a slow, painful breath, her wounded ribs aching. "I want one more condition."
Enzo raised an eyebrow. "Name it."
"I am not your puppet," Sarah said, her voice dropping into a firm, unyielding tone that surprised even Enzo. "If I am going to play the role of Mrs. Caruso, I am not staying locked in some golden cage while you make decisions about my life. I want to know what’s happening. I want to know who is trying to kill us."
A slow, faint smile touched the corner of Enzo’s hard lips. It was the first time Sarah had seen anything resembling warmth on his stern face.
"Agreed," Enzo said. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a heavy platinum wedding band encrusted with small black diamonds, and reached for her left hand.
Sarah hesitated for a split second before extending her hand.
Enzo slid the ring onto her ring finger. It was slightly cool against her skin, heavy and impossibly expensive.
"Welcome to the family, Sarah," Enzo whispered.
At that moment, the heavy oak door was kicked open.
A tall, silver-haired man in a tailored charcoal coat walked in, flanked by four federal agents wearing navy windbreakers with 'FBI' stamped across the back.
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Agent Marcus Miller stepped into the room, holding a leather badge folder in one hand and a stack of legal documents in the other. His sharp grey eyes swept over Sarah's hospital bed, taking in the platinum ring on her finger, before landing squarely on Enzo Caruso.
"Cut the performance, Caruso," Agent Miller said, his voice dripping with condescension. "The fairy tale is over."
