SIENNA POV
The spreadsheet blurred in front of my eyes. I blinked twice and refocused on the numbers. Column D didn't match column F. Someone miscalculated the quarterly projections by three thousand dollars.
I highlighted the error and typed the correction. Thursday afternoon at Patterson & Associates was usually quiet. Most people started mentally checking out around four o'clock. I liked working when everyone else slowed down. It meant fewer interruptions.
My phone buzzed. Elena's name flashed across the screen.
Drinks after work? You need to get out more.
I smiled and typed back a quick no. Elena meant well but she didn't understand that I preferred being invisible. Going out meant questions. Questions meant lies. Lies meant keeping track of stories that might unravel if I said the wrong thing.
"Sienna Moretti."
My hands froze on the keyboard.
The voice came from directly in front of my desk. Deep. Calm. The kind of voice that didn't need to be loud to command attention.
I looked up.
A man sat in the chair across from my cubicle. He hadn't asked permission. He hadn't knocked or cleared his throat or done any of the polite things people do when they want your attention. He just sat there like he owned the space.
He was tall even while sitting. Dark suit that probably cost more than my monthly rent. Black hair pushed back from his face. A scar ran along his left cheekbone, thin and white against olive skin.
But it was his eyes that made my stomach drop.
They were dark brown, almost black, and they looked at me like he could see through every carefully constructed lie I'd built over the past three years.
I recognized danger the way animals recognize predators. Something ancient in my brain started screaming.
"Can I help you?" My voice came out steady. Professional. Like my heart wasn't trying to break through my ribcage.
"Your father owes my family three million dollars."
The world tilted sideways.
I gripped the edge of my desk to keep from swaying. Three million. The number hung in the air between us like smoke.
"He's been missing for eighteen months," the man continued. His voice never changed. He could have been reading a grocery list. "That debt doesn't disappear when debtors run. It transfers to their family."
My throat closed. I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"You have forty-eight hours to produce three million dollars or face the consequences."
He slid a business card across my desk. Plain white. A phone number printed in black ink. Nothing else.
Then he stood and walked away.
Just like that.
No threats. No raised voice. No explanation of what "consequences" meant.
He didn't need to explain. I already knew.
My father used to mention the name Matteo Carbone in hushed, frightened conversations before he disappeared. He'd say it like you'd say the name of a terminal disease. Something inevitable and terrible.
I sat frozen at my desk. People walked past my cubicle. Keyboards clicked. Phones rang. The office continued like nothing happened.
Like my entire world hadn't just collapsed.
Three million dollars.
I pulled up my bank account on my computer. The numbers swam in front of me. Forty-seven thousand dollars in savings. I'd worked for three years to build that cushion. Every extra shift. Every skipped meal. Every choice to stay home instead of go out.
Forty-seven thousand dollars.
I needed three million.
The math was impossible.
My car was worth maybe six thousand. I owned nothing valuable. No jewelry. No property. No investments. My apartment was rented. My furniture came from thrift stores.
I had nothing.
"Sienna, you okay?"
I looked up. My boss, Harold Patterson, stood beside my cubicle. He was sixty-three with kind eyes and gray hair.
"I'm fine." I smiled. The expression felt like it might crack my face. "Just tired."
"You've been working too hard. Take tomorrow off. Get some rest."
"Thank you."
He walked away. I stared at my computer screen and tried to think.
Forty-eight hours.
Two days to produce money I didn't have. Two days to solve an impossible equation.
I pulled out my phone and searched for Matteo Carbone. The results were sparse. A few business listings. Some charity event photos where he stood in the background. Nothing that explained who he really was or what he did.
But I didn't need the internet to tell me.
I remembered my father's face when he talked about the Ricci family. I remembered the fear in his voice. I remembered the way he'd check over his shoulder like someone might be listening.
Then one day he was gone.
No note. No explanation. He just disappeared and left me to deal with the wreckage of his choices.
My hands started shaking. I tried to stop them but couldn't. The trembling spread up my arms. Into my chest. My breathing came faster.
I was going to lose everything.
My apartment. My job. My carefully built life. Everything I'd worked for would be destroyed because my father was a coward who ran instead of facing his debts.
The office slowly emptied as five o'clock approached. Elena waved goodbye from across the room. I waved back and kept my smile in place.
When everyone left, I finally let myself break.
I put my head in my hands and tried not to scream.
Three million dollars.
The number kept repeating in my head like a death sentence.
I couldn't run. They'd found me once. They'd find me again. I couldn't hide. I couldn't fight.
I had no options.
Unless.
A thought formed in the back of my mind. Terrible and desperate and completely insane.
What if I offered something else?
Not money. Something more valuable.
I pushed the thought away immediately. It was crazy. Dangerous. Stupid.
But it wouldn't stop circling back.
I grabbed my bag and left the office. My legs felt unsteady as I walked to my car in the parking garage. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. My footsteps echoed against concrete.
I got in my car and sat there for a long moment before starting the engine.
My hands shook so badly I could barely hold the steering wheel.
I pulled out of the garage and merged into evening traffic. Cars surrounded me on all sides. Red taillights stretched ahead like a river of blood.
Forty-eight hours.
I had forty-eight hours to figure out how to save my life.
In my rearview mirror, headlights appeared. A black SUV. It stayed three cars behind me as I turned onto the main road.
My heart started racing again.
Was that them? Were they following me?
I changed lanes. The SUV changed lanes.
I turned right at the next light. The SUV followed.
My breath came faster. Panic clawed at my throat.
They weren't even trying to hide. They wanted me to know they were watching. They wanted me to understand that I couldn't escape.
I drove faster. The SUV kept pace.
My phone buzzed in the cup holder. An unknown number.
I grabbed it with shaking hands and read the text message.
Forty-seven hours and thirty-two minutes remaining. We'll be in touch.
The phone slipped from my fingers and fell onto the passenger seat.
The SUV's headlights blazed in my mirror, blinding and relentless.
I had no money. No options. No way out.
And they were already watching everything I did.