SHADOWS IN THE WALL

I woke up at three in the morning to the sound of someone screaming.

For a confused moment, I thought it was me. That I'd been having a nightmare about the wedding, about Dante's face close to mine, about becoming someone I didn't recognize. But no, the screaming was coming from somewhere else in the house. Distant but clear in the silent darkness.

I grabbed my robe and opened my bedroom door slowly. The hallway was dim, lit only by small emergency lights near the floor. The screaming had stopped, replaced by something worse. Silence that felt heavy and wrong.

Every instinct told me to go back to bed. Lock my door. Pretend I hadn't heard anything. But I'd never been good at ignoring things that scared me.

I followed the hallway toward the main staircase, my bare feet silent on the carpet. The house felt different at night. Bigger. Like the walls expanded when no one was looking.

That's when I heard it. Low voices coming from the floor below. One of them was Dante.

I crept down the stairs, staying close to the wall where shadows were deepest. The voices were coming from a room off the main hall; the one Mrs. Chen had mentioned was Dante's office. The one I wasn't allowed to enter.

".....can't keep doing this," someone was saying. Male voice, older. "The risks are too high."

"The risks were always high." That was Dante, cold and controlled. "Nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed. You brought her here. Made her part of this."

"She's not part of anything. She's insured."

Insurance. The word hit me like a slap.

"Insurance that could get her killed," the other man said. "They're watching the house. You know they are. It's only a matter of time before they make a move."

"Let them try." Dante's voice went darker. "I've prepared for this. Every angle covered. Every exit strategy planned. They won't get near her."

"You don't know that."

"I know that I own this ground. Every inch of it. And anyone who crosses my property line will regret it."

There was a pause. Then the other man spoke again, softer this time. "She looks like her, you know. Your mother. Same eyes. Same way of holding herself, like she's ready to run but too proud to show it."

"Get out."

"Dante…."

"I said get out."

I heard footsteps approaching the door and barely had time to duck behind a large potted plant near the stairs. A man emerged older, maybe sixty, with silver hair and tired eyes. He looked around the hall once, like he sensed someone watching, then headed toward a side exit.

I waited until his footsteps faded before breathing again.

The office door was still open. I could see a sliver of light and Dante's shadow moving inside. I should have gone back upstairs. Should have pretended I'd never heard any of this.

Instead, I stepped closer.

Through the gap in the door, I could see him standing at a wall of monitors. Dozens of them, showing different angles of the estate grounds. Gardens. Gates. The long driveway. And there on one of the screens in the corner of my bedroom. The empty bed I'd just left.

My stomach turned over.

He'd been watching me. Was probably watching me all the time.

I must have made a sound, a gasp or a shift of weight because Dante's head snapped up. His eyes found mine through the crack in the door.

"Come in, Isabelle." Not a request. A command.

My legs felt like water, but I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The office was smaller than I expected, dominated by the wall of screens and a desk covered in files and photos. I tried not to look too closely at anything.

"How much did you hear?" he asked.

"Enough." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "You're monitoring my room. You're using me as insurance for something. And people are watching this house."

"Very good. Gold star for eavesdropping." He turned back to the monitors. "Anything else?"

"That man said I look like your mother."

His shoulders tensed. Just slightly, but I caught it.

"You have questions," he said. Not asking, stating.

"About a thousand."

"Ask one. Just one. Then you go back to bed and forget you were ever down here."

I looked at the screens again. At the cameras covering every possible angle of approach. At the files on his desk with red stamps that said CLASSIFIED. At his face, reflected in the monitors, showing nothing.

"Who's trying to kill you?" I asked.

He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. Then he pulled out a photo from one of the files and held it up. It showed a group of men in expensive suits, standing in front of what looked like a private club. My father was in the photo. Younger, smiling. Standing next to two men I didn't recognize.

"These people," Dante said. "This organization. They've been killing people for thirty years. Politicians, businessmen, anyone who threatened their interests or tried to leave their circle. Your father was one of them."

"You keep saying that…"

"Because it's true." He pulled out another photo. This one showed two bodies on a floor, covered in blood. My hand went to my mouth. "My parents. Murdered because they discovered what your father and his associates were doing. Made to look like a murder-suicide. Case closed, no investigation, everyone moved on."

"That's not… my father wouldn't…."

"Read the files in the library," he said quietly. "All of them. Bank statements. Recorded conversations. Emails. Your father's handwriting on orders that destroyed families. Then tell me again what he would or wouldn't do."

I felt tears burning behind my eyes but refused to let them fall. Not in front of him.

"So what am I?" I asked. "Revenge? You married me to punish him somehow?"

"I married you because his associates are still active. Still dangerous. And having Richard Ashford's daughter under my roof, under my control, makes them hesitate. They can't move against me without risking exposure of what they did to your family too. Mutually assured destruction."

"I'm a human shield."

"You're protected," he corrected. "There's a difference. Those cameras, the security, the restrictions they're not to control you. They're to keep you alive."

"How generous."

"It is, actually." He turned off one of the monitors showing my bedroom. Small mercy. "You could be dead already. Most people connected to your father are. Heart attacks. Car accidents. Suicides. All very convenient, all very final. But you're here. Safe. Because I made sure of it."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him he was wrong about my father, about everything. But the photos on his desk told a different story. And the fear in his eyes carefully hidden but still there told me he believed every word he was saying.

"The screaming," I said. "Earlier. What was that?"

"Security alarm. False trigger. Happens sometimes when deer get too close to the perimeter." He said it casually, but I didn't believe him.

"You're lying again."

That almost-smile. "Yes. But you're not ready for the truth yet."

He walked over to the door and opened it wider. A clear dismissal.

"Go back to bed, Isabelle. Tomorrow, Mrs. Chen will give you a device that connects directly to my phone. You see anything unusual, hear anything strange, you call me immediately. Understand?"

"I'm not a child…"

"No. You're a target. And targets that don't follow instructions end up dead." He waited until I stepped into the hallway, then added, "Sleep well, wife. Tomorrow we have our first public appearance. You'll need to be convincing."

The door closed between us with a soft click.

I stood in the hallway, shaking. From fear or anger or exhaustion, I couldn't tell anymore.

Then I did exactly what he'd told me not to do.

I went to the library and found the blue folder on the second shelf.

Inside were documents that would change everything I thought I knew about my family. About my father. About the man I'd become to save.

I read until the sun came up and my tears ran dry.

And I understood, finally, why Dante Marchetti's eyes were so cold.

He'd married the daughter of his nightmares.

And now we were both trapped in a house built on lies and blood.