Isabella's POV

The first knock came just after six in the morning.

It wasn't gentle.

Three hard bangs rattled the thin apartment door, making the chipped picture frame on the wall tremble.

I froze halfway through buttoning my waitress uniform.

Another knock.

Louder this time.

"Isabella Moretti!" a man's voice shouted from the hallway. "Open the door!"

My stomach dropped.

No.

Please not again.

I glanced toward the tiny bedroom where my sixteen year old sister still slept beneath a faded blue blanket. She had school in an hour. For once, she looked peaceful.

I wasn't about to let anyone take that away from her.

The knocking came again.

I hurried to the door before Sofia could wake up.

"What do you want?" I asked without opening it.

"We're done waiting."

"I told your boss I'll pay."

"You've been saying that for three months."

I closed my eyes.

Three jobs.

Seventeen hour days.

Barely enough money to keep the lights on.

Still not enough.

The debts my parents left behind seemed to grow every week, no matter how hard I worked.

A heavy fist slammed against the door.

"You have until tonight," the man growled. "If we don't get our money, we'll start taking things instead."

His footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Silence followed.

I rested my forehead against the peeling paint of the door and let out the breath I'd been holding.

The apartment smelled faintly of burnt toast and old coffee.

Home.

If you could even call one bedroom, cracked windows, and broken plumbing a home.

"Izzy?"

I turned.

Sofia stood in the bedroom doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Her dark hair was a tangled mess, and she wore one of my oversized sweaters that nearly reached her knees.

"They came again, didn't they?"

I forced a smile.

"It was nothing."

She folded her arms.

"You always say that."

"Because I don't want you worrying."

"I'm already worried."

She looked older than sixteen whenever she said things like that.

Too old.

Children weren't supposed to carry fear in their eyes.

Not every morning.

"I'll handle it," I said.

"You always do."

Her voice cracked.

Then she looked away.

Guilt settled heavily in my chest.

Ever since Mom died six months ago, I'd been trying to be everything at once.

A sister.

A parent.

A provider.

Some days I wasn't sure I was succeeding at any of them.

I crossed the room and brushed a strand of hair behind Sofia's ear.

"Go get ready for school."

She didn't move.

"What if they come back while you're working?"

"They won't."

"You don't know that."

I swallowed.

No.

I didn't.

"I'll figure something out."

She studied my face for a long moment before nodding.

"You always do," she whispered again.

I wished I believed it.

By noon, my feet already ached.

The lunch rush at Romano's Café never gave anyone time to breathe.

"Table seven needs coffee."

"Order up."

"Where's my check?"

Voices blended into one endless wave of noise.

I balanced three plates along one arm and weaved through crowded tables without spilling a drop.

Years of practice.

One wrong move meant replacing broken dishes out of my paycheck.

I couldn't afford another deduction.

"Isabella."

I looked toward the counter.

My manager stood there with his usual frown.

"Office."

Great.

I carried the food to the correct table before making my way toward the back.

The tiny office felt even smaller with Mr. Romano standing inside it.

He didn't ask me to sit.

"I've been patient."

I already knew where this was going.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't pay wages."

"I know."

"You've been late three times this week."

"I work nights."

"That's not my problem."

No.

Nothing ever was.

He sighed.

"I like you, Isabella."

Which meant he was about to fire me.

"But customers don't like waiting because their waitress can barely stand."

"I'll do better."

"You've said that before."

"I mean it."

He rubbed his temples.

"You have until the end of the week."

Relief nearly made my knees buckle.

"Thank you."

"If you're late again, don't bother coming back."

"I won't."

I meant every word.

Because if I lost this job...

I didn't let myself finish that thought.

The rain had started by the time my shift ended.

Cold droplets soaked through my thin jacket before I reached the bus stop.

I checked my phone.

Five missed calls.

Unknown number.

Another debt collector.

I shoved the phone back into my pocket.

A black luxury sedan rolled to a stop beside the curb.

Its windows were so dark I couldn't see inside.

The rear window lowered smoothly.

A man in an expensive black suit looked at me.

"Miss Isabella Moretti?"

Every instinct told me to keep walking.

"Who's asking?"

"My employer wishes to speak with you."

"I'm not interested."

"He wasn't asking."

I laughed once.

Short.

Humorless.

"I don't get into strangers' cars."

The man stepped out.

He was tall.

Broad shouldered.

An earpiece disappeared beneath the collar of his tailored suit.

Bodyguard.

Definitely.

"Please."

Something about the way he said it wasn't a request.

It was a warning wrapped in good manners.

"I have another job."

"This won't take long."

"I said no."

His expression never changed.

"Your sister finishes school in twenty minutes."

Ice spread through my veins.

"What did you say?"

"We know where Sofia is."

Every muscle in my body tightened.

"If you touch her..."

"No one is threatening your sister."

His calm voice somehow made it worse.

"My employer simply wishes to talk."

I stared at him.

Who were these people?

How did they know about Sofia?

The bodyguard opened the rear door.

"You'll return home safely."

I should have run.

I should have screamed.

Instead, I climbed into the car.

The drive lasted nearly forty minutes.

The deeper we traveled into Manhattan, the more expensive everything became.

Towering buildings.

Luxury boutiques.

Restaurants where one dinner probably cost more than my monthly rent.

Eventually, enormous iron gates slid open.

The sedan rolled through without stopping.

Beyond them stood the largest mansion I had ever seen.

White stone walls stretched across acres of perfectly trimmed gardens.

Fountains sparkled beneath the gray afternoon sky.

Men in black suits stood at every entrance.

Armed.

Watching everything.

The car stopped.

The bodyguard opened my door.

"This way."

I followed him inside.

Marble floors gleamed beneath crystal chandeliers.

Every painting looked centuries old.

The place didn't feel like a home.

It felt like a palace built by someone who wanted the world to know exactly how powerful they were.

We stopped outside two massive wooden doors.

The bodyguard knocked once.

A deep voice answered.

"Come in."

The doors swung open.

The office was enormous.

Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the city skyline.

Bookshelves lined one wall.

Ancient whiskey bottles filled another.

Behind a dark wooden desk sat a man dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit.

He didn't stand.

He didn't smile.

He simply watched me.

Dark hair.

Sharp jaw.

Piercing gray eyes that seemed capable of stripping away every lie I'd ever told.

He looked about thirty.

Maybe a little older.

Danger radiated from him so naturally it was almost tangible.

I'd never met him before.

But somehow...

I knew exactly who he was.

Massimo De Santis.

The man newspapers never dared criticize.

The man politicians pretended not to know.

The man whose name people lowered their voices to whisper.

The Mafia Don.

He closed the file in front of him.

"Miss Moretti."

His voice was calm.

Controlled.

"I've been expecting you."

I forced myself to meet his gaze.

"I wasn't expecting you."

"No."

One corner of his mouth lifted.

"Barely anyone ever is."

Silence stretched between us.

He studied me with the patience of someone who never rushed anything.

I hated that it made me nervous.

"You know who I am," he said.

"Yes."

"Are you afraid of me?"

I thought about lying.

Instead I answered honestly.

"I think I'd be stupid not to be."

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Approval.

Maybe.

"Sit."

It wasn't an invitation.

I sat anyway.

He slid a folder across the desk.

I didn't touch it.

"What is this?"

"A solution."

"To what?"

"Every problem you've been facing."

My heart skipped.

He already knew.

The debts.

Sofia.

Everything.

"How?"

"I make it my business to know things."

I stared at the folder.

"What do you want from me?"

His expression never changed.

"You'll find the answer inside."

My fingers hesitated before opening it.

Inside were neatly organized documents.

Bank statements.

Debt records.

Medical bills.

School records.

Every detail of my life.

At the bottom rested a single contract.

I read the first line.

My breath caught.

Marriage Agreement.

Slowly, I looked back up.

Massimo De Santis watched me without the slightest hint of emotion.

"I don't understand."

"You will."

He folded his hands.

"I want you to become my wife."

The room fell completely silent.

I searched his face for any sign that this was some cruel joke.

There was none.

"I think you've mistaken me for someone else."

"I never make that mistake."

"I'm nobody."

"No."

His gray eyes locked onto mine.

"You are exactly the woman I need."

My pulse thundered in my ears.

Every instinct screamed that I should leave.

Run.

Forget this place ever existed.

But before I could speak again, Massimo delivered the sentence that changed everything.

"If you refuse," he said evenly, "your debts will bury you."

He paused just long enough for the words to sink in.

"If you accept..."

His gaze never left mine.

"Your sister will never know fear again."