THE MEETING
896 Words
Alessandro jolted awake with a knife in his hand.
No. Not a knife. The edge of the bedside table. His knuckles were white around it. Sheets tangled at his waist, soaked through with sweat, and the silk felt like that wallpaper. Like that night.
Eighteen years gone. The villa was ash. The man in the fire was ash. His mother was ash.
But her order wasn’t.
_Live, topo._
He did. God help anyone who thought that was the same as safe.
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Alessandro De Luca didn’t do meetings in other men’s offices.
Other men came to him. On their knees, usually.
But Vincenzo Romano wasn’t other men. Vincenzo Romano owed the De Luca family four million euro from a weapons deal that went sideways in Tunisia. Vincenzo Romano had been dodging calls for six months.
Vincenzo Romano had something Alessandro wanted.
Money.
So Alessandro walked into Romano Import-Export at 9:03 AM, two seconds after his men kicked the door off its hinges.
The office smelled like old cigars and new fear. Vincenzo was behind his desk, sweating through a linen suit. Two guards flanked him. Useless. Luca had already disarmed them before Alessandro stepped over the threshold.
“De Luca.” Vincenzo’s voice shook. “I was gonna call. The funds—”
“Are six months late.” Alessandro didn’t sit. Sitting implied this was a negotiation. “I’m not here for excuses. I’m here for collateral.”
He nodded to Luca. Luca dropped a folder on the desk. Photos. Bank accounts. Vincenzo’s mistress. His daughter’s school schedule.
Vincenzo went gray. “You can’t—”
“I can.” Alessandro’s eyes were black ice. “And I will. Unless four million euro is in my account by noon.”
It was then that she walked in.
Not through the main door. Through the side one. The one that led to the filing room. She had a stack of invoices in her arms and a frown between her brows, like she’d heard the noise and come to scold whoever was interrupting her morning.
She didn’t see him at first. She saw the door on the floor. The guards with their hands up.
“Dad are you alright?”
Her voice.
It hit Alessandro like a bullet he hadn’t heard fired.
Because it wasn’t the voice that stopped him. It was her eyes.
Green.
Wide.
And for one catastrophic second, eighteen years collapsed.
The villa. The fire. The olive grove. The bushes. A girl hiding, watching him cry, eyes full of guilt
She looked at him and that was her mistake.
Froze.
The invoices hit the carpet.
Alessandro didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. His brain was cataloging, comparing, matching. The shade of green. The shape. The way her pupils blew wide when she was afraid.
It was her.
After eighteen years, the ghost had a body. A pulse. A name he didn’t know yet.
Vincenzo lurched to his feet. “Eliana, Get out!”
Eliana.
_Eliana._
The name branded itself behind Alessandro’s teeth.
He didn’t look at Vincenzo. Couldn’t. If he looked away from those eyes, she might disappear like she did in the bushes. Like she had in every dream for eighteen years.
“Change of terms,” he said. Voice low. Off. Wrong. Luca glanced at him, alarmed. Alessandro De Luca was never off.
“Wh-what?” Vincenzo stammered.
Alessandro finally dragged his gaze to him. It took physical effort. Like tearing velcro. “You don’t have four million euro. We both know it.”
“I can get it, I swear, I just need—”
“You have her.”
The room went dead.
Vincenzo blinked. “What?”
Eliana’s breath hitched. She took a step back, into the doorframe.
Alessandro stepped forward. Once. The floor creaked. “Four million by noon. Or I take her.”
“You’re insane!” Vincenzo slammed his hands on the desk. “She’s my foster daughter! She’s twenty-six, she’s not—”
“She’s payment.” Alessandro’s eyes were back on Eliana. She was shaking. Good. She should be afraid. “Vincenzo Romano debt law. You know it. Your father taught you. A man pays with what he values most when money fails.”
“I don’t value—” Vincenzo cut himself off.
Too late.
Alessandro smiled. It wasn’t kind. “Yes, you do. You keep her in the office. Not your house. Where you can see her. Protect her.” His head tilted. “So either she’s worth four million to you. Or she’s worth nothing. Which is it?”
Eliana’s fists clenched. “I am not—”
“You’re not speaking.” He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “Vincenzo is.”
Vincenzo looked between them. At his guards. At Luca’s gun. At the door on the floor. At Eliana’s green, furious, familiar eyes.
“You have until noon,” Alessandro said. He walked past Eliana. Close enough that his sleeve brushed hers. Close enough to smell smoke and something floral he didn’t recognize. Not Chanel. _Her_.
He stopped at the doorway. Didn’t turn around. “Two hours, Romano. After that, she’s De Luca property.”
Then he was gone.
But her eyes stayed.
Burned into the back of his skull like the fire that started this.
Eighteen years.
He’d found her.
Now he just had to own her.
- Writer
