Page 12 of Married to the Enemy

“Nothing I have time to get into now. Suffice it to say, I’m married to Calvino’s daughter. I’ll give you more information later, but I gotta go.”

There was a beat of shocked silence, then a sharp, “Don’t you dare ha—” before he ended the call. He didn’t have time for the inevitable questions. Besides, if he let her finish, she might actually combust through the phone.

Married. He almost snorted out loud. Years of carefully cultivated undercover work, and now he was someone’s husband. He should’ve asked Diane if the Bureau covered spousal benefits.

He shook his head, pulling his ballcap low and hunching his shoulders a bit. At six-foot-two with shoulders like a linebacker, blending into a crowd wasn’t exactly easy. But he’d learned how to shrink himself, how to disappear. Shoulders slumped, stride shortened, chin tucked—he was just another guy no one wanted to notice. And in this city, most people were too busy clutching their coffee and rushing to whatever meeting was next on their calendar to remember the man they’d passed on the steps.

He kept just far enough back that, if Mia Calvino turned around, she wouldn’t spot him. But not far enough to lose her.

The other judge’s name—Winters—still buzzed in his mind. Mia had bolted through those doors with too much desperation for this farce of a wedding to be casual.

What the hell was really going on? What was worth this frantic sprint through the courthouse?

Another thought struck him, absurd but enticing: maybe he could convince her to stand with him in Family Court. A marriage certificate was solid evidence of a stable family, sure. But a living, breathing wife? That would play even better.

He almost chuckled. From undercover FBI agent to “please bring your ‘mafia princess’ wife to court” in less than twenty-four hours. His life had officially gone around the bend.

And right on cue, Mia shoved through the doors of another courtroom, her voice ringing out like a trumpet. “I’m here!” she yelled, breathless.

Raffe sighed under his breath. Of course you are, wife. Of course you are.

The doors to the courtroom swung shut before he could hear anything else. Raffe hesitated only a heartbeat, ignoring the deputy’s narrowed glare. He leaned slightly, listening, then eased the doors open just enough to slip inside. So that no one would question him, Raffe slid onto a bench at the back, hat shoved back into his jacket pocket.

Probate court. These kinds of court functions weren’t well attended and normally were barely noticed. Court reporters chased the flashier trials—drug busts, gang shootings, fraud cases with better headline potential. There wasn’t anything flashy about probate court. Guardianship and inheritance issues were generally fairly mundane and tedious.

If only they knew.

Raffe slouched low on the wooden bench, stretching his long legs out, trying to look like he belonged there while his mind sharpened.

“Your Honor!” a lawyer’s voice rang out, polished and self-important. “Ms. Calvino has no standing in this court procedure. Her father, Mr. Vito Calvino, is here to represent the family. Ms. Santini is Mr. Calvino’s mother-in-law, and he is fully prepared to take on all financial and health decisions for Ms. Santini.”

Raffe’s gaze shifted forward, and there she was—Mia. His wife. He almost huffed a laugh at the thought, but the scene in front of him stole the humor away.

Mia walked to the frail woman in the wheelchair, her steps purposeful despite the tremor of tension Raffe could feel even from here. She bent, gently hugging the elderly woman, whispering something too quietly for Raffe to catch. But he saw the change in the elderly woman immediately. The woman’s head lifted, her dull eyes sharpening with renewed hope.

So, that was her nonna.

The judge cleared his throat. “Ms. Calvino, may we proceed?”

Mia straightened, still holding tightly to her grandmother’s hand. Even across the room, Raffe could see the old woman’s gnarled fingers clinging to Mia like she was a lifeline.

“Yes, Your Honor,” Mia replied, her voice steady but her chin trembling just slightly. “I apologize.” She patted her nonna’s hand with her other one. “I’m here to offer my personal guardianship of my nonna—my grandmother. She’s seventy-five, and I am willing to care for her for as long as she needs me.”

Raffe felt something shift in his chest. Mia’s words cracked at the edges, but that just made them stronger. Real. Not rehearsed. Not staged.

The judge’s stern expression softened, though the lawyer’s pen tapped sharply on the table.

“Apparently, the question now before this court,” the judge said, “is whether the son-in-law or the granddaughter would be better suited to act as the financial and health guardian of Ms. Santini.”

Predictably, Vito’s lawyer jumped in, his tone oozing condescending authority. “Your Honor, Ms. Calvino is only twenty-six years old. Far too young to take on the enormous responsibility of managing Ms. Santini’s estate. Mr. Calvino has many business interests, is well established within the community, and is far better suited for the role. He is also more than willing to shoulder the enormous financial burden of caring for Ms. Santini.”

Raffe saw Mia’s spine stiffen, fury pouring off her in waves.

“Taking care of my nonna isn’t a burden!” she hissed, court protocol forgotten. “Taking care of her is an honor!” Her voice cracked again, but the passion in it was unmistakable. She turned pleading eyes toward the judge. “Please, Your Honor. My grandmother has been sitting in a nursing home for two years. It’s no place to live. She has a home, a beloved garden, and she’s only seventy-five. She loves her house and wants to live there, not in a nursing home. In her golden years, she deserves that much.”

“Enough!” Vito snapped, shoving against the defense table, his lawyer’s frantic hand waving ignored. “Mia, shut up and sit down.” His dark eyes glared at his daughter with fury. “You’re too young to understand what caring for your grandmother really means! She needs daily medical attention and help moving about even for the most basic needs. The nursing home can care for her better than you ever could!”

Mia bent over her grandmother protectively. “If my nonna needs medical care, then I’ll hire a nurse to assist her.”