CHAPTER 1: The Debt
My name is Elena Rossi, and I am nobody.
Every morning, I wake up at five o’clock to the sound of my mother’s coughing. It is a deep, painful cough that reminds me how helpless I am.
My mother has been sick for two years, ever since my father’s import business began to fail. We can barely afford her medicine, and every dollar I earn goes toward keeping our family alive.
I am twenty-one years old, but I feel much older.
I look at myself in our cracked bathroom mirror. My long brown hair is tied into a simple ponytail, and dark circles rest beneath my tired eyes. I own only three dresses, and my favorite is a faded beige dress I bought from a ukay-ukay shop when I visited my Lola in the Philippines.
It is old, but clean.
And it is mine.
“Elena, anak, gising ka na ba?” my mother calls from the kitchen.
“Opo, Mama.”
I join her and my ten-year-old brother, Edward., for breakfast. There is leftover rice, one egg, and a small piece of tuyo. We no longer have a dining table because Papa sold it last month to pay our bills.
“Where’s Papa?” I ask.
My mother looks toward the living room. “He’s in his office. He didn’t sleep again.”
Papa’s office is just a small corner with an old desk, a second-hand computer, and piles of unpaid bills.
There was a time when our family had everything. Papa’s company imported Filipino products into America, and I was studying business at New York University. We had a comfortable home, a car, and enough money to dream about the future.
Then everything fell apart.
Six months ago, I dropped out of college because we could no longer afford my tuition. Now, I work at a small café near Times Square, earning ten dollars an hour plus tips.
I walk an hour to work every day because I need to save money for Edward’s school supplies.
My life is simple: work, go home, take care of my family, and repeat.
At the café, customers complain about everything. My manager scolds me for being late, and a wealthy woman laughs at my faded dress while drinking her expensive coffee.
I say nothing.
I have learned that pride cannot buy medicine, and tears cannot pay bills.
By six in the evening, I have earned sixty dollars, including tips. I carefully place the money inside my old wallet and begin the long walk home.
As I pass the glittering skyscrapers of New York, I look up at their beautiful windows and wonder what it feels like to live without worrying about money.
My Lola used to tell me, “Elena, anak, you are too beautiful to be poor. One day, a rich prince will come and save you.”
I used to laugh at her words.
Now, I don't believe in princes anymore.
I believe in hard work, sacrifice, and surviving one day at a time.
But that evening, something happens that makes me question everything.
When I turn onto my street, I notice a black car parked in front of our small house.
A Rolls-Royce Phantom.
Its polished surface gleams beneath the streetlights, looking completely out of place in our poor neighborhood. Several neighbors are peeking through their windows, whispering among themselves.
My stomach tightens.
Who would visit our house in a car like that?
I approach the front door and hear voices coming from inside.
One belongs to my father.
“Please, just give me more time. I swear I'll find a way to pay you back.”
A stranger answers in a deep voice, his Italian accent unmistakable.
“You have already had two years, Marco.”
I freeze.
Two years?
“I know,” Papa pleads. “But my business has failed. My wife is sick, and I have two children to take care of. Please, you have to understand.”
“Your problems are not my concern.”
I have never heard anyone speak to my father that way.
Then the stranger says something that makes my blood run cold.
“Ten million dollars, Marco. Do you understand how much patience I have already wasted on you?”
Ten million dollars.
I grip the doorknob, unable to believe what I have just heard.
How could Papa owe someone that much money?
I slowly open the door.
Mama is sitting on the sofa, crying silently, while Marco holds her hand.
“Ate Elena,” my little brother whispers. “What's happening?”
I squeeze his hand. “I don't know, little man.”
But I know something is terribly wrong.
From the living room, I can see the door to Papa’s makeshift office, slightly open. A tall shadow falls across the floor, but I cannot see the stranger’s face.
“Please,” Papa begs. “I'll do anything, but leave my family out of this.”
There is a brief silence.
Then the stranger speaks again.
“Your family, Marco?”
“Yes,” Papa answers shakily. “Please. They have nothing to do with this.”
The man lets out a quiet sigh.
“Perhaps it's time your daughter learned what your promises are worth.”
My heart stops.
My daughter.
Me.
I stare at the half-open door, suddenly afraid to move.
“Please,” my father whispers. “Not Elena.”
The stranger remains silent for a moment.
Then he delivers his final words, his voice cold and unwavering.
“That is for me to decide.”
I cover my mouth with my hand.
I don't know who this man is. I have never met him, never heard his name, and never imagined that someone like him would have any reason to care about my existence.
Yet here he is, standing inside our home, threatening the only family I have ever known.
I look at my mother, who continues to cry, and at Marco, who clings to my arm.
For the first time, I realize that my family is hiding something from me.
Something terrible.
I have spent my entire life trying to protect the people I love. I sacrificed my education, my dreams, and every little thing I wanted for myself.
But what if my sacrifices are no longer enough?
I tighten my grip on Edward’s hand and stare at the office door.
I am Elena Rossi.
I am nobody.
And I have no idea that the stranger behind that door is about to turn my life upside down.
I don't even know his name yet.
Alessandro De Luca.
