Bounded By Debt

Emily 🌹

The hallway yawned before me, dim, endless, and heavy with silence. Light sputtered in weak pools across the worn hardwood, barely holding back the dark.

Dust clung to everything. Thick. Stale.

I could smell it-old books, faded scotch-sinking into the oak doors and curling into my clothes, clinging to my skin like something I'd never wash off.

I swallowed hard.

But the weight of it, of whatever waited beyond that door, had already wrapped around me tight as a noose.

Voices drifted from the study.

One was sharp, threaded with nerves. The other, smooth and commanding. Lethal in its quiet calm.

I knew my uncle's tone well. The bluster. The wheedling. That edge of desperation when he was cornered.

But this time something was different. Darker. Final.

My stomach twisted.

I edged closer, heart pounding.

Then the door snapped open.

"Don't do this," Uncle Raymond pleaded. His voice wavered. "You know I just need more time."

A long pause. Silence so thick it felt like it had weight.

Then:

"I'm not a patient man, Carter."

The voice sent a chill racing up my spine. Calm. Cold. Absolute.

I froze. My fingers twisted into the fabric of my sweater, trying to ground myself.

I heard the soft clink of ice against glass. A drink being set down.

Then a sharp inhale-my uncle's. Ragged. Desperate. Like a man about to drown.

"I swear I'll get your money. Just a few more months. Business has been slow but once I-"

Excuses. Stumbling. Drenched in panic.

A chuckle cut through the air.

Low. Amused. Dangerous.

"You don't seem to understand," the man said. "I don't deal with promises. I deal with results."

A slow, creeping chill spread through me.

I moved closer, careful to stay silent.

A sliver of space revealed a glimpse inside the room.

Amber light pooled across tall bookshelves. Papers lay scattered across a mahogany desk. Smoke curled lazily in the thick air.

And then I saw him.

Seated. At ease.

Dark suit. Crisp lines. Effortless power.

He didn't belong in this fading ruin of my uncle's life.

Too sharp. Too powerful. Too dangerous.

My breath caught.

I didn't need to be introduced.

Marco Bianchi.

The name was whispered in the city's shadows, spoken in bars, murmured over liquor and fear. A man people didn't talk about unless they wanted to disappear.

And now he was here.

In my home.

A cold hand curled around my spine and stayed there.

Uncle Raymond ran a trembling hand down his face. "If you just give me-"

A sigh cut him off.

Marco leaned in, elbows on his knees. Casual. Too casual.

But his gaze-dark and heavy-felt like something I'd never escape.

"You seem to think you have negotiating power," he said.

The room went still.

I pressed my nails into my palms.

Marco's voice dipped lower. Almost gentle.

"Pay your debt or lose something valuable."

My blood turned to ice.

Uncle Raymond stiffened. "What do you mean?"

Silence followed. Heavy. Waiting.

Marco picked up his glass again, swirling the amber liquid.

Ice clinked. Too soft. Too slow.

A sound that shouldn't feel like a threat.

But it did.

"I think you know," he said.

My uncle swallowed audibly.

"I don't-"

He didn't finish. Couldn't.

And then it happened.

He said my name.

"Your niece. Emily."

The hallway spun around me.

My stomach dropped, sharp and cold, like stepping off a ledge into open air.

I slapped a hand over my mouth. A gasp pushed up from my throat, but I swallowed it back.

A chair scraped across the floor. My uncle stood, breath coming fast. "You can't be serious."

Desperation. Panic. But no control.

Marco didn't move.

Didn't need to.

"Do I look like a man who jokes, Carter?"

Uncle Raymond began to pace. His footsteps pounded against the floor. "She has nothing to do with this."

Marco tilted his head. "She does now."

The air in the room shrank, pressing in from all sides.

"You owe me three million dollars," Marco said. Calm. Patient. Like the calm before a storm. "I want my payment. Since you can't provide it, I'm taking collateral."

My uncle's breath hitched. "She's just a girl."

Marco's eyes flicked toward the door. "She's twenty-three. Hardly a child."

The silence grew thick again.

Uncle Raymond's hands clenched at his sides. "I won't hand her over."

Marco leaned back in his chair like he owned the building, the city, the world.

"I'm giving you a choice."

Uncle Raymond opened his mouth to speak.

Marco raised a hand. "Or I take Emily as compensation."

I stumbled back from the door, my heart thrashing against my ribs.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

My uncle might be a liar, a gambler, a selfish bastard, but he wouldn't do this.

He wouldn't-

"If I refuse?" Raymond asked, voice hoarse.

Silence.

Then Marco spoke.

"You won't."

A whisper, but it felt like a death sentence.

Raymond's breath hitched.

"I can't," he rasped.

Marco's eyes darkened. He studied my uncle in silence, then:

"Then you've made your choice."

The air shifted. Final.

Raymond gripped the desk, knuckles white.

Seconds passed. Then:

"Take her."

The words barely rose above a whisper.

But they echoed like a betrayal.

A knife straight into my ribs.

The breath fled my lungs.

No.

My legs gave out and I caught myself on the wall.

He'd just given me away.

Like I was nothing. A possession. A bargaining chip.

The floor tilted beneath my feet.

I turned.

I needed to get out. Before they saw me. Before Marco-

I forced my legs to move. Step after step.

Don't run. Don't tremble. Don't breathe too loud.

The hallway stretched forever.

Then I bolted.

But I only made it three steps.

A shadow moved.

A hand caught my wrist. Strong. Unyielding.

I gasped and tried to yank away.

The grip tightened.

"Where are you going, dolcezza?"

His voice slid over my skin like smoke and steel.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned to face him.

Marco Bianchi.

He stood there, tall and unshaken. A storm in a tailored suit.

I hadn't even heard him move.

His eyes met mine. Dark, sharp with amusement-and something worse.

Something hungry.

My breath caught.

"Let me go," I whispered.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he'd already solved.

"You heard, didn't you?"

I didn't answer.

He smirked.

"Smart girl."

I yanked at his grip, but it was like trying to move a mountain.

His gaze dropped to my wrist, to where my pulse fluttered beneath his fingers.

"Your uncle made his decision," he said quietly. "And now you belong to me."

I clenched my fists. My breath shook.

"I don't belong to anyone," I snapped.

The words burned on the way out.

Marco chuckled. A low, dark sound that curled through me like frost.

"That's where you're wrong, amore mio."

Soft words, edged with steel.

His grip didn't hurt-but it didn't let go either.

It was a promise.

I wasn't going anywhere.

Not anymore.

And as he led me away, the truth sank deep into my bones.

I wasn't walking out of this.

This was only the beginning