Blood Debt

The espresso machine hissed a sharp burst of steam, cutting through the midday lull inside the Via Roma cafe.

Alessio stared blindly at the ceramic cup in front of him. A thin film had already formed over the lukewarm surface of his coffee. Beneath the small circular table, his right heel hammered a relentless rhythm against the floorboards.

He swiped a thumb across his watch face. She was making him sweat it out.

The front door finally swung inward.

Chiara shoved her sunglasses up into her dark, messy waves as she walked in. Her leather jacket creaked faintly, the heavy heels of her boots striking the tiles with absolute authority. She scanned the empty tables, locked onto him, and closed the distance.

"You look like a corpse," she announced, dragging the metal chair back and dropping into it. "This better be good. I don't do daylight errands for fun."

Alessio managed a hollow imitation of a smile, dragging a heavy palm down his face. "Thanks for showing."

The sheer exhaustion bleeding through his words made her shift. Her casual arrogance vanished.

"Drop the act," Chiara demanded. "What exactly did you do?"

He stared at the cold coffee, his throat working a dry swallow. He couldn't look at her when he said the name. "It’s Camilla."

Chiara went perfectly still. "What about her? Don't play games with me right now."

Alessio leaned over the table, dropping his volume to a rough whisper. "I buried myself, Chia. Buried myself deep. Sports books, borrowed cash. The kind of money a guy like me doesn't ever see in one lifetime."

He stopped, his teeth grinding together as he fought for air.

"When the clock ran out, they didn't just want their cash back. They wanted a pound of flesh."

Chiara leaned in, her voice slicing through the quiet space. "Tell me you didn't let them put hands on her."

"I didn't let them do anything. She stepped in front of it."

Silence slammed down over the table.

"She what?" The words barely made it past Chiara's lips. "You better be lying to me."

Alessio shook his head, the crushing weight of the truth pressing his shoulders down. "Massimo Vanzetti collected the debt personally. I was done. Dead on the floor. But Camilla jumped in the middle of it. She offered a deal."

He forced himself to meet her stare. "She told him to take her as collateral."

The metal legs of Chiara's chair screeched across the tile as she shot to her feet.

"Collateral?" she shouted, the word bouncing off the cafe walls. "She is your own flesh and blood, Alessio! How the hell do you stand there and let that happen?"

"Keep your voice down," Alessio hissed. He lunged across the table, his fingers clamping hard around her wrist to physically haul her back into the seat. "You think I want to live with this? I hate my own guts. But I didn't have a choice. She made the call to keep a bullet out of my head."

Chiara’s chest heaved. Water gathered at the edges of her vision, but she blinked it away instantly. "Where did he take her?"

"I don't have an address yet," Alessio admitted, his voice cracking. "Probably his main estate. He told me she belongs to him now."

"You threw her straight to the wolves."

"I know what I did," Alessio pleaded, his grip tightening on her arm before he let go. "That’s why I need you. I need your resources to track her down before this goes any further."

Chiara sat back. She didn’t yell this time. She just stared at him, her dark eyes entirely devoid of sympathy.

"Start praying right now," Chiara told him, her voice low and remarkably steady. "Because if Vanzetti leaves a single mark on her, he’s not the one you need to hide from. I will strip the flesh off your bones myself."

Alessio took the threat without a flinch. He already felt like a dead man walking.

Across the city, a heavy oak door swung inward with zero warning, the brass handle smacking loudly against the plaster.

Camilla jumped, the silk blouse she was holding slipping right through her fingers to pool on the floor.

"What the hell—" she choked out, her hands flying up to cover her bare chest and shoulders.

Massimo stood directly on the threshold. He didn’t apologize. He didn’t even blink. His gaze simply dropped from her panicked eyes, tracking slowly over her exposed skin before snapping back up. A designer garment bag hung from one hand, a black shoebox pinned under his opposite arm.

"Are you incapable of knocking?" she snapped.

He stepped entirely into her room, ignoring the question like it hadn't even been asked. "This is your wardrobe for tonight."

He dropped the shoebox onto an armchair and unzipped the garment bag in one fluid motion. A sheer, liquid-black dress cascaded out, the expensive fabric catching the dim light. It was the kind of garment designed exclusively to draw stares.

"You can't just barge in here while I'm—"

"Undressed?" Massimo finished for her, his voice devoid of any inflection. He hooked the hanger over the edge of the wardrobe door. "Your modesty is a waste of time. The people looking at you tonight will be far worse than me."

Camilla squeezed her arms tighter across her chest, her palms damp against her own skin. "You do not just walk into my space like you own it."

"I walk wherever I please," Massimo countered smoothly. "Because I own you."

He closed the gap between them. He didn’t rush, his footsteps entirely silent on the rug until he was towering right over her. The sharp, smoky scent of his cologne invaded her space, instantly messing with her equilibrium.

She tipped her chin up, refusing to shrink back. "I don't belong to you."

Massimo stopped close enough that the fabric of his suit nearly brushed her bare shoulder. He angled his head down, stopping mere inches from the side of her face.

"Repeat that exactly like that tonight," he murmured softly near her ear. "Right in front of a room full of men who would much rather taste your fear than listen to your opinions."

A sharp, involuntary chill hit the base of her neck. Camilla hated her own physical reaction. She hated the way her breath snagged in her throat while her chest burned with absolute outrage.

"Step back," she ordered, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

Massimo remained planted. His eyes dropped to the rapid pulse beating at her exposed collarbone, lingering there for a fraction of a second before lifting to meet her glare.

"You will put the dress on," he stated, leaving zero room for negotiation. "And you will stand at my side whether you want to or not."

Neither of them blinked. The silence in the room stretched out, heavy and absolute.

Massimo stared down at her, feeling a sudden, unwanted spike in his own pulse. He mentally checked himself, shutting the reaction down at the source. She was a transaction. A bargaining chip. Exactly what her useless father had been. Nothing more.

He finally took a step back, severing the tension. He lifted a hand to casually adjust his immaculate cuff.

"My driver will be waiting downstairs at midnight," he instructed, turning his back on her to head for the hallway. "Be completely ready. I don't wait for anyone."

Camilla glared at his broad back. "Next time, knock."

Massimo paused in the doorway. A faint, knowing smirk curved the corner of his mouth.

"Then use the lock," he replied smoothly.

He stepped out, and the heavy door clicked firmly shut in his wake.

Camilla stood frozen in the center of the rug, her skin still vibrating with a strange, leftover heat. She cursed him under her breath, completely infuriated by his untouchable arrogance.

She bent down, snatched her blouse off the floor, and whipped it across the mattress.

"He actually thinks he can just parade me around like a show pony," she muttered to the empty room.

But the deep resonance of his voice was still stuck in her head. Her mind refused to drop the memory of his breath brushing her ear, or the quiet authority in his command.

"No," she whispered sharply to herself, pacing away from the bed. "He does not get to affect me."