The rain had a way of making Rome look softer than it really was. Tonight, it painted the cobblestone streets silver, blurred the neon glow of streetlamps, and muffled the sounds of the city that never really slept.
Inside the Moretti townhouse, the air was heavy with something that had nothing to do with the storm outside — dread.
Elena Moretti sat at the dining table, her fingers curling around a chipped porcelain mug she hadn't bothered to drink from. The coffee had gone cold an hour ago, much like the promises her father had been feeding her since she was a child. She could hear him pacing in his study down the hall, muttering into the phone. His voice was shaky, too soft for a man who had once been so sure of himself.
She knew why.
The D'Angelo family didn't make idle threats.
She was halfway through counting her own breaths when the sound came — a slow, deliberate knock on the front door. Three times. Heavy enough to echo through the walls.
Her father froze mid-step, and for a moment, Elena thought he might pretend he wasn't home. But no one ignored that kind of knock. Not if they wanted to keep breathing.
The door opened.
And there he was.
Adrian D'Angelo didn't belong in her father's modest home. Everything about him screamed power, from the way his tailored charcoal suit clung to his broad shoulders, to the glint of the silver watch on his wrist — one that probably cost more than their entire kitchen. His dark hair was slicked back, the rain sliding off it without daring to stick.
But it was his eyes that made Elena's spine straighten.
Cold, assessing, a shade of storm grey that looked like they'd seen too much and cared too little. He didn't glance around the house like a guest. He walked in like he already owned it.
"Vincenzo," Adrian said, his deep voice smooth, carrying that dangerous calm of a man who didn't need to raise his tone to make others obey.
"Adrian," her father replied, forcing a weak smile. "This is… unexpected."
"No, it isn't," Adrian said simply, stepping inside without invitation. His gaze flicked over the room, catching on Elena for the briefest second — just long enough for her to feel it like a physical touch. He didn't smile. Didn't soften. Just looked.
Her father gestured toward the dining table. "We can discuss this—"
"We've discussed enough." Adrian removed his gloves slowly, deliberately, as if each movement was meant to keep everyone in the room aware of just how much time he could waste if he wanted to. "The debt stands at three million euros, Vincenzo. You've had six months. I'm done waiting."
Elena set her mug down. The sound was sharper than she meant it to be, and both men turned toward her.
"Three million?" she said, her voice even, though her pulse was hammering. "How do you lose that much?"
Her father's face pinched. "Elena, not now—"
"No," Adrian interrupted, his gaze settling on her in full this time. "Now is perfect." He took a step closer, and the air between them shifted. "You're his daughter."
It wasn't a question.
Elena held his stare, refusing to flinch. "And you're the man who thinks walking into someone's home uninvited makes him powerful."
A flicker of something — amusement? — passed through his eyes. "No. What makes me powerful is that I can walk into someone's home uninvited… and they let me."
She hated that her stomach twisted at the way he said it, the quiet certainty in his tone.
Her father cleared his throat. "Adrian, please. Give me more time. I—"
"There's no more time." Adrian's gaze never left Elena's. "But I'm a man who believes in… alternative arrangements."
The room stilled.
Her father blinked. "Arrangements?"
Adrian's lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "Your daughter. My wife."
The words dropped like a blade.
Elena let out a sharp laugh, the sound brittle. "That's your solution? Marry me off like some… bargaining chip?"
Adrian stepped closer, his presence filling the space until she could smell the faint mix of rain and expensive cologne. "Not like a bargaining chip, Elena. Exactly like a bargaining chip. You keep your father alive. I gain a wife who understands her place in a world she didn't choose."
Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she refused to look away. "And if I say no?"
A beat of silence. Then, quietly: "You won't."
She hated that his certainty wasn't arrogance — it was fact.
Her father's voice cracked. "Elena, please… this is the only way."
She looked between them, her chest tight. She wanted to scream, to tell them both to go to hell. But beneath the fury was a colder truth — she knew exactly what the D'Angelos did to those who couldn't pay their debts. She'd seen it in the headlines. Heard it whispered at dinner tables.
If she refused, her father was as good as dead.
Her hands curled into fists. "When?"
Adrian's lips tilted the slightest bit, like he'd just won a game she didn't know she was playing. "Two weeks."
And just like that, he turned, pulling his gloves back on, walking out into the rain without looking back.
Elena stayed rooted to the floor long after the door shut, her heart pounding, her skin buzzing with a mix of rage and something she didn't want to name.
She'd just met the man she was going to marry.
And she already wanted to kill him.