Debt Of Desire

Bella's pov “Bella, please, you have to understand, we had no choice,” my mum said to me. “You had a choice, and you chose to sell me off to him to offset your debts. We could have found another way, mum, I would have worked so many jobs to help, please dad,” I said, turning to him. “Don't sell me off.” “We had no choice,” my dad said. He couldn't even look me in the eye. A knock on the door interrupted us, everyone froze. I knew the debtor had come to collect his debt, but I wasn't planning on going with him freely. I have to fight if it comes down to it. I can't just sell my freedom to him just like that. I walked to the door and pulled it open and there stood Vincenzo Romano with his signature sinister smile. Vincenzo Romano was everything the rumors promised and worse—tall enough to make the doorway feel smaller when he stepped through it, broad-shouldered in a black suit that cost more than my parents' house, dark hair swept back just enough to look deliberate, and those eyes, storm-gray and unblinking, like they could peel secrets right off your skin. A thin, jagged scar ran from the outer edge of his left eyebrow down across his cheekbone, pale against his olive skin, the kind of mark that spoke of violence survived rather than endured, and damn it, it only made him look more dangerous, more unfairly magnetic, the imperfection sharpening the rest of his features into something almost too perfect to trust. “Isabella Conti,” he said, his voice low and final, like the words were already law. “You belong to me now. It’s time to go.” I hated the way my pulse jumped when he finally spoke, hated even more that I couldn't stop staring at the scar that sliced across his face like a signature on a death warrant, turning what should have been another arrogant billionaire into something primal and terrifyingly beautiful. No matter how devastating he looked standing there in my parents' house– tall and lethal, that jagged scar turning his face into something both ruined and ruinous, those storm gray eyes stripping me bare– or how my stupid traitorous pulse hammered in my throat like it recognized danger and craved it anyway, I wasn't going anywhere willingly, my parents could sell me like livestock, he could buy me as a painting for his private gallery, but I wasn't some docile thing to be collected and carried off. My hand curled into fists at my sides. “Get out of my house,” I said, voice shaking with rage instead of fear. “ I don't belong to you. I don't belong to anyone.” The words tasted like fire, and I meant every single one– even when the lie tasted bitter when his gaze flicked to my trembling lips and lingered there, like he already knew exactly how long it would take to prove me wrong. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile “we will see about that, cara.” He said, stepping closer. He gives my parents a single, chilling glance— they flinched, cowards. “ We had no choice Bella….the debt…. He would have ruined us” my dad says fueling my rage. “You sold me like I'm nothing!” I said turning my back against Vincenzo for a second– big mistake, he moves like a shadow, closing his hand around my upper arm firmly and impossible to shake off. “Enough” he says quietly but the room goes still. With me still pinned in place by his hand and the weight of his presence, he reaches his hand into his coat pocket and pulls out a slim folder, he opens it one-handed, holding up the signed agreement— my parents' shaky signature glared under the dim light. “Read it” he ordered, voice low and unhurried. I refuse but he tilts the page towards my eyes: “or I can summarize. Your parents borrowed seven figures for a failing business. Collateral: You. No loopholes. No appeals.” I snatched it from his hands and tore it in half— he doesn't react, just says “Digital copies exist and debts accrue interest.” My parents whimper apologies, my father suddenly grabbed both my arms from behind, slamming me back against the wall hard enough that pain shot through my shoulder blades. My mother rushed forward and gripped my other arm, her nails digging into my skin, leaving angry red welts that would bruise purple by morning. “Stop fighting, Bella!” my father hissed, twisting my wrist until I cried out. “Just go with him!” I thrashed, kicking at them. “You’re hurting me!” They didn’t stop. My father’s grip tightened, bruising my forearms. My mother’s nails bit deeper, drawing thin lines of blood. Vincenzo watched it all. Silent. Unmoved. Then he stepped forward. “Enough.” One word. Quiet. Lethal. My parents froze. Enzo’s hand closed around my father’s wrist—effortless, unbreakable. “Release her.” My father let go like he’d been burned. Enzo turned to my mother. She dropped my arm instantly, tears streaming. He looked back at me. My chest heaved, arms throbbing with fresh bruises, tears of rage burning my eyes. He reached out—slow, deliberate—and cupped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, almost gentle. “You will come with me now,” he said softly, voice like velvet wrapped around steel. “Willingly… or not.” I jerked my face away. “Touch me and I’ll kill you.” His lips curved—just the barest hint of a smile. “Many have tried.” He leaned in, breath warm against my ear. “But none of them were mine.” Before I could react, his arms banded around me—iron bands, unyielding. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, one arm under my knees, the other locking me against his chest. I kicked. I clawed. I screamed every curse I knew. He didn’t flinch. My parents watched from the doorway—silent, ashamed, cowards. Enzo carried me down the steps, through the night, to the waiting black Rolls Royce parked outside, he deposited me into the passenger seat and put my seatbelt in place, closing the door he rounded to the other side of the door and slid into the driver's seat. My parents watched from the doorway in silence. The doors locked with a soft final click. Silences stretch in the car. I glare out the window, fists clenched, tears threatening to fall down my eyes. Vincenzo watches me in the dim glow of passing streetlights. I could feel his stare at the back of my neck. “You think this makes me yours? I’ll run at the first chance I get.” I say breaking the silence. “You can try, many have.” He replies calmly. I look away. “Stop fidgeting.” he says. I freeze instinctively, hating myself for it. “Breath. Slowly.” he commands. I do as he says, angry, shallow breaths. “Better.” He notes. “Your parents chose survival over honor. I chose you. Make no mistake— this is permanent.” He adds quietly. “I will destroy you.” I vow even though my body betrays me with an unwanted awareness of his heat, his scar and his voice.