The rain in Milan looked expensive.

Everything in this city did.

The black cars gliding through the streets looked expensive. The women stepping out of restaurants in fur coats looked expensive. Even the silence between strangers carried the kind of cold that belonged to people who could ruin lives with signatures.

Elena Rossi hated it.

She stood beneath the flickering bus stop light, hugging her thin coat tighter around herself as water soaked through her shoes. Her phone screen glowed weakly in her trembling hand.

17 missed calls.

All from her father.

Her stomach twisted.

Again.

She already knew what those calls meant before she answered the eighteenth one.

“Papa?”

“Where are you?” His voice came out rushed, strained, drowning beneath loud noises in the background.

Elena immediately straightened. “What happened?”

“I need you to come home.”

The line went quiet for two seconds.

Then she heard it.

A man screaming.

Not in anger.

In pain.

Her blood ran cold.

“Papa…”

“Just come home.” His breathing cracked. “Please.”

The call ended.

Elena stared at the dead screen for half a second before shoving the phone into her bag and running into the rain.

By the time she reached their apartment building, her lungs burned.

The elevator was broken again.

Of course it was.

Their building in Navigli had been dying for years. Cracked walls. Rusted railings. Neighbors who looked at each other with tired eyes and carried groceries like defeat.

Elena climbed the stairs two at a time until she reached the fourth floor.

Their apartment door was open.

That never happened.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

“Papa?”

No answer.

She stepped inside slowly.

And froze.

Three men occupied the apartment like they owned it.

One sat casually on the couch, cleaning beneath his fingernails with a knife.

Another leaned against the wall near the kitchen.

The third stood beside her father.

Or rather, held him upright.

Blood dripped from Carlo Rossi’s nose onto the floor.

“Elena.” Her father’s voice broke with relief and shame at the same time.

The man sitting on the couch finally looked up.

Dark suit.

Dark eyes.

Silver watch.

The kind of calm that felt more dangerous than shouting.

“Elena Rossi,” he said smoothly. “Finally.”

Every instinct in her body screamed.

Run.

But her father looked terrified.

So she stayed.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded.

The man smiled slightly.

Not kindly.

“He owes money.”

Her jaw tightened. “We’ve been paying.”

“Not enough.”

Her father avoided her eyes.

And suddenly she understood.

Not debt.

Gambling.

Again.

A sharp fury sliced through her chest.

“You promised me you stopped.”

“Lena…”

“You promised me!”

The man on the couch watched the exchange with quiet amusement before rising to his feet.

Tall.

Too tall.

The room seemed smaller when he stood.

“Elena,” he said calmly, “your father borrowed seven hundred thousand euros from people who are becoming impatient.”

She blinked.

Seven hundred thousand?

Her knees nearly folded.

“That’s impossible.”

Her father began crying.

Actually crying.

“I tried to win it back.”

Elena closed her eyes briefly.

Stupido.

Stupido. Stupido.

Her father’s gambling addiction had already destroyed their bakery, their house in Florence, her mother’s jewelry, everything.

But this?

This was death.

“You threatened him?” she asked quietly.

The tall man tilted his head. “No. Vincenzo threatened him.”

The man by the kitchen grinned.

Gold tooth.

Predator eyes.

Wonderful.

“You break into homes often?” Elena snapped.

The tall man stepped closer.

Rainwater dripped from her hair onto the floor between them.

Up close, he looked carved instead of born. Sharp jaw. Expensive black coat. Emotionless gaze.

Not handsome.

Dangerous.

There was a difference.

“You have spirit,” he murmured.

“I have common sense.”

“Not enough to avoid men like us.”

Her pulse skipped.

Something about the way he spoke made her feel trapped already.

“Who are you?”

Silence stretched.

Then the man beside her father answered first.

“You don’t know who he is?”

The room suddenly felt wrong.

Like she’d walked into a church without realizing there was a funeral happening.

The tall man’s eyes never left hers.

“Alessandro Moretti.”

The name hit the room like a gunshot.

Even Elena knew that name.

Everyone in northern Italy did.

The Moretti family owned hotels, shipping companies, vineyards, nightclubs.

Officially.

Unofficially?

Rumors dripped around their name like blood beneath a locked door.

Organized crime.

Disappearances.

Political corruption.

Bodies.

Her throat dried instantly.

Her father owed money to the Morettis.

Dio mio.

Alessandro Moretti studied her expression carefully.

“There it is,” he said softly. “Recognition.”

Fear crawled beneath her skin.

“You’re mafia.”

Vincenzo laughed loudly. “Smart girl.”

Alessandro didn’t react.

“We prefer businessman.”

“Businessmen don’t beat old men bloody in apartments.”

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“And gamblers don’t usually risk money they cannot repay.”

Touché.

Elena swallowed hard.

“What do you want?”

Her father suddenly dropped to his knees.

“Elena, please.”

The sound shattered something inside her.

Her father never begged.

Never.

“I’ll work,” she said quickly. “I already work two jobs. I can pay monthly. We’ll figure something out.”

Vincenzo burst out laughing again.

Seven hundred thousand euros probably sounded microscopic to these people.

Alessandro remained expressionless.

“You have ten days.”

Elena nodded immediately. “Okay.”

“To pay everything.”

Her breath caught.

“That’s impossible.”

“Yes.”

The answer came too fast.

Too calm.

Like he enjoyed impossible things.

Her anger finally erupted.

“Then why pretend this is a negotiation?”

For the first time, Alessandro looked interested.

Actually interested.

Like she’d become entertaining.

He walked closer until she could smell expensive cologne mixed with rain and smoke.

“You’re brave.”

“I’m desperate.”

“Sometimes they look alike.”

She hated how steady his voice stayed.

Hated how controlled he was while her entire world collapsed around her.

“What happens after ten days?”

No one answered immediately.

Which was answer enough.

Elena looked at her father.

Then back at Alessandro.

Then at the blood on the floor.

And suddenly humiliation burned hotter than fear.

“You came here to scare us.”

“No,” Alessandro said softly. “If I came to scare you, your father would already be missing fingers.”

The apartment fell silent.

Even Vincenzo stopped smiling.

Elena realized with icy clarity that Alessandro wasn’t joking.

Not even slightly.

Her father started sobbing again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

She wanted to scream.

At him.

At the men.

At herself for being shocked.

Instead she inhaled slowly.

“What if we can’t pay?”

Alessandro’s gaze lingered on her face for one unreadable second.

Then he said the sentence that changed everything.

“There may be another arrangement.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

Elena stiffened instantly.

“No.”

A faint smile touched Vincenzo’s mouth.

Alessandro ignored him.

“I own many businesses. I value loyalty. Obedience.”

“I said no.”

“You don’t even know the proposal.”

“I know men like you.”

That amused him again.

“No,” Alessandro said quietly. “You don’t.”

He stepped past her toward the door.

The other men followed immediately.

Like wolves moving after their alpha.

Before leaving, Alessandro paused.

Rain thundered outside the apartment windows.

“You have ten days, Elena Rossi.”

Then his eyes dropped briefly to the silver cross hanging around her neck.

Something unreadable flickered across his face.

Gone instantly.

“But when those ten days end,” he said softly, “you will belong to me one way or another.”

The door shut behind him.

Silence exploded afterward.

Her father collapsed into a chair, shaking violently.

Elena stood frozen in the middle of the apartment.

The rain outside grew heavier.

And somewhere deep inside her chest, instinct whispered the truth before her mind accepted it.

Those men hadn’t come to collect debt tonight.

They had come to see her.