The Price Of Blood
Valentina Rossi’s world had always been simple.
Wake up early, help her mother with breakfast, rush to her part-time job at the little flower shop by the square, and spend her evenings buried in books, chasing the kind of dreams every girl her age was supposed to have.
At twenty-two, she dreamed of becoming a fashion designer. Her notebooks were filled with sketches—gowns inspired by roses, skirts flowing like rivers, colors bold enough to make anyone stop and stare. It was a dream too big for a family like hers, but Valentina held it close to her heart.
Because dreams were all she had.
Her father had once been a respected businessman, but those days had vanished like smoke. A string of failed investments, bad partnerships, and whispered rumors of gambling left their family gasping for stability. Still, Valentina told herself things would get better. They always had to.
That illusion shattered one rainy evening.
Valentina had just returned from the shop, the sweet fragrance of lilies still clinging to her clothes. She stepped inside their modest home and froze. Her father was sitting at the table, his face buried in his hands, an untouched glass of whiskey by his side.
“Papa?” she asked softly.
He didn’t answer at first. When he lifted his head, his eyes were red, hollow. “We’re finished, Valentina.”
Her stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”
The glass trembled in his hand. “I borrowed money… more than I could ever repay. And now they’re coming.”
A chill spread through her chest. “Who’s coming?”
He didn’t say it, but she already knew. Everyone in the city did. There was only one man powerful enough to make her father shake like a leaf.
Lorenzo De Luca.
The Mafia King.
That night, Valentina lay awake in her small room, listening to the storm hammer against the windows. She wanted to believe her father was exaggerating, that this was just another one of his broken promises to change. But deep down, she knew the truth.
When the knock came at their door, it was not a polite one.
It was the sound of doom.
Her mother’s gasp carried through the hall. Valentina rushed out of her room just as the front door creaked open, revealing two men in black suits. They weren’t ordinary men—everything about them screamed power and danger, from their cold expressions to the weapons faintly visible under their coats.
One of them scanned the house, his gaze finally landing on Valentina. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying not to shrink under the weight of his stare.
“Mr. Rossi,” the taller one said, his voice like gravel. “It’s time.”
Her father crumbled, falling to his knees. “Please, I just need more time. I can get the money—”
“Time is something you no longer have,” the man interrupted sharply. His eyes flicked to Valentina again, lingering a moment too long. A chill ran down her spine.
“We’ll take you to him,” the other said. “Lorenzo doesn’t like waiting.”
The name hit the room like thunder. Her mother started to sob. Valentina’s chest tightened as she grabbed her father’s arm.
“Papa, don’t go—”
He turned to her, eyes full of shame. “I have no choice, piccola. This is the price of my sins.”
But he was wrong.
Because hours later, Valentina would discover that she was the one who had no choice.
The meeting took place in a mansion that didn’t look real. High marble columns, chandeliers dripping with crystal, and men in suits stationed at every corner with eyes as sharp as blades.
Valentina walked beside her father, her heart pounding so loudly she thought it would shatter her ribs. They were ushered into a vast room where a single man sat behind a desk, the very picture of power and sin.
Lorenzo De Luca.
He looked younger than she had expected, maybe in his early thirties, but there was nothing youthful about him. His presence filled the room, commanding and suffocating. Sharp cheekbones, piercing dark eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass—he was too beautiful for a monster, but the air around him was thick with menace.
Her father stammered, falling to his knees. “Lorenzo, I—I beg you—”
Lorenzo’s eyes flicked to him, then to Valentina. They lingered on her face, tracing every line, every curve, as though he could already see through her soul.
“You disappoint me, Rossi,” Lorenzo said, his voice calm, smooth, terrifying. “You take what is mine and think you can run? That is not how this game works.”
Her father sobbed. “I’ll pay! I swear I’ll—”
“You won’t.” Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving Valentina. “But perhaps your daughter will.”
The world tilted beneath her feet.
“What?” Valentina whispered.
Lorenzo’s smile was slow, dangerous. “I’m a businessman, Miss Rossi. Your father’s debt is… inconvenient. But you?” His gaze swept over her like fire. “You could be the solution.”
Her father paled. “No—she’s just a girl, leave her out of this—”
“Quiet.” The word was sharp as a blade. Lorenzo’s men pressed forward, and her father shrank back.
Lorenzo rose from his chair, moving with the quiet grace of a predator. When he stopped in front of Valentina, he tilted her chin up with one finger, forcing her to meet his eyes.
“Sign a contract, marry me, and your family walks free,” he said softly. “Refuse, and they suffer the consequences of your father’s greed.”
Valentina’s lips parted in shock. Marriage? To him? Her pulse raced, fear warring with disbelief.
“You can’t—”
“Oh, I can,” he interrupted. “And I will.”
He let go of her chin and returned to his desk. Papers were placed before her, thick with ink and signatures.
Her father fell to his knees again. “Valentina, don’t—”
But she wasn’t thinking about herself anymore. She thought of her mother, her little brother, the only family she had left. If she refused, Lorenzo would destroy them.
Her hand shook as she picked up the pen.
Lorenzo leaned back, watching her with unreadable eyes. “That’s it, bella. Save them. Be their sacrifice.”
Tears blurred her vision, but she pressed the pen to the page. In that moment, she wasn’t Valentina Rossi, the girl with dreams. She was a prisoner. A pawn.
And with one stroke of ink, she bound herself to the devil.
