Forty-Eight Hours
The first time Isabella Romano heard the name Alessandro Moretti, her mother dropped a glass.
It shattered against the kitchen floor, scattering pieces beneath the old wooden table.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then Isabella looked up from the medical bills spread across her lap.
"Mom?"
Maria Romano stared at the two men standing outside their apartment door. Their dark suits were expensive, their expressions unreadable, and neither appeared particularly concerned about the broken glass.
One of them held a black folder.
The other looked at Isabella.
"Miss Romano?"
Isabella stood slowly. "Who are you?"
"Representatives of the Moretti family."
Her mother's face lost its color.
Isabella noticed. She noticed the way Maria gripped the edge of the counter, the way her eyes darted toward the folder, and the way her lips moved soundlessly around a name Isabella had never heard her mother say before.
Moretti.
The man with the folder stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
"We're here concerning the outstanding obligations of your late father."
Isabella felt something tighten in her chest.
"My father is dead."
"We're aware of that."
"Then you should also be aware that he left us nothing."
The man opened the folder.
"Your father borrowed a substantial amount of money from our organization several years ago. The debt remains unsettled."
"That's impossible."
"Is it?"
He placed a document on the table.
Isabella stared at the signature at the bottom.
Gabriel Romano.
Her father's name.
She recognized the handwriting immediately.
For a moment, the apartment seemed to tilt around her.
Her father had never told them about a loan. He had worked two jobs, complained about rising prices, and sometimes gone without dinner so that his daughters could eat.
He had died believing he was leaving his family with very little.
Now these strangers were claiming that he had left them a debt they could never repay.
"How much?" Isabella whispered.
The man named a figure.
Her knees nearly gave way.
It was more money than she could earn in ten lifetimes.
"That's ridiculous," she said. "We don't have that kind of money."
"Then I suggest you find someone who does."
Maria stepped forward.
"Please. My husband would never have borrowed that much. There must be some mistake."
The second man looked at her with something resembling pity.
"Your husband signed the agreement, Mrs. Romano."
"He wouldn't have—"
"Mom," Isabella interrupted softly.
She reached for her mother's hand.
It was trembling.
The man closed the folder.
"You have forty-eight hours to make arrangements. After that, our employer will decide how to proceed."
"Your employer?" Isabella demanded. "Who exactly is he?"
The man regarded her for a moment.
Then he answered.
"Alessandro Moretti."
He left the name hanging between them like a threat.
The men departed.
The apartment door clicked shut.
Maria sank into a chair.
Isabella remained standing, staring at the papers.
Her father's signature looked painfully familiar.
She remembered him carrying her on his shoulders when she was little. She remembered the smell of engine oil on his shirts, his tired smile when he returned from work, and the way he always promised that everything would be all right.
Had he lied to them?
Or had someone done something to him?
"Mom," Isabella said, lowering herself into the chair beside her. "Tell me you know nothing about this."
Maria pressed both hands against her mouth.
That was when Isabella became afraid.
Not because of the men.
Not because of the debt.
But because her mother looked like someone who had just watched a ghost walk through the front door.
"Mom?"
Maria shook her head.
"I don't know anything."
It was a terrible lie.
Isabella heard it in the uneven rhythm of her mother's breathing.
She wanted to demand answers, but a small voice came from the hallway.
"Isabella?"
Sophia stood at the entrance to the living room, one hand resting against the wall.
Her younger sister looked exhausted.
The illness had taken much of her strength, leaving her pale and fragile. Even so, she attempted a smile when she saw Isabella.
"Did the hospital call?"
Isabella's heart broke a little more.
Sophia had been waiting all morning for news about her treatment.
The hospital had given them another deadline. Without the required deposit, the procedure would be postponed again.
Isabella had promised her sister that she would find a way.
She had promised her mother that they would not lose their home.
She had promised herself that she would never allow their circumstances to defeat them.
Now forty-eight hours stood between her family and an unknown danger.
She helped Sophia return to bed before going back to the kitchen.
Maria was still sitting at the table.
"Tell me the truth," Isabella said.
Her mother looked up.
"Your father loved you. Whatever happened, he did it to protect this family."
"Protect us from what?"
Maria's eyes filled with tears.
"I can't explain."
"Can't or won't?"
"Please, Isabella."
The desperation in her mother's voice silenced her.
For now.
That afternoon, Isabella went to work.
She served coffee to businessmen who complained about their investments, cleared tables for couples who barely looked at her, and smiled at customers who left coins instead of tips.
Every time she glanced at the clock, she remembered the debt.
Every time she checked her phone, she hoped for a message from the hospital.
Nothing changed.
By nine that evening, she had counted her tips three times.
It was not enough.
It would never be enough.
"You're going to wear a hole through that wallet."
Isabella looked up.
Her friend Nadia stood beside the counter, tying her apron.
"I'm calculating my future," Isabella replied.
"How does it look?"
"Expensive."
Nadia's expression softened.
"Is it your sister?"
"And something else."
Isabella hesitated before explaining what had happened.
When she finished, Nadia stared at her in disbelief.
"The Morettis?"
"You know them?"
"Everyone knows them. Or at least everyone knows enough to stay away from them."
"That's encouraging."
"I'm serious, Bella. You can't deal with people like that."
"Then tell me what I'm supposed to do. The hospital wants money. My family owes a debt we can't pay. We have two days."
Nadia had no answer.
Neither did Isabella.
But doing nothing was not an option.
Later that night, while clearing a table near the restaurant's private dining area, Isabella overheard two men discussing a gathering at the Blackwood Hotel.
One of them mentioned that Alessandro Moretti would be attending.
The name stopped her.
She approached the waiter responsible for the private room.
"Is there any chance you need additional staff tonight?"
He frowned.
"Why?"
"I can serve tables, carry trays, anything. I'll work for cash."
He studied her for several seconds.
Then he glanced toward the private dining area.
"Keep your head down and do exactly what you're told."
An hour later, Isabella stood outside a ballroom overlooking the city.
Through the open doors, she saw men in tailored suits, women wearing diamonds, and waiters moving between tables.
The room smelled of expensive perfume and polished wood.
Isabella adjusted the cuffs of her borrowed uniform.
She had no business being there.
But she had no other plan.
She entered carrying a tray of champagne.
A man stood near the windows with his back to the room.
He wore a black suit that fit him perfectly. One hand rested in his pocket while the other held a glass he had barely touched.
Two men stood nearby, speaking quietly.
Nobody interrupted him.
Nobody appeared willing to approach him without permission.
Isabella had seen powerful men before.
This man was different.
He did not need to raise his voice or demand attention.
The room seemed to organize itself around him.
She was turning toward another table when a voice stopped her.
"You."
Isabella turned.
The man by the window was looking directly at her.
His eyes were a startling shade of gray.
"Come here."
She should have refused.
Instead, she approached, keeping the tray steady.
"Yes, sir?"
He glanced at the champagne.
"Put it down."
She placed the tray on a nearby table.
He studied her face.
"What is your name?"
"Isabella."
"Your full name."
She hesitated.
"Isabella Romano."
Something changed in his expression.
It was subtle, but she noticed the sudden stillness in his face.
One of the men beside him leaned forward.
"Sir?"
Alessandro Moretti ignored him.
"Gabriel Romano's daughter?"
Isabella's heart slammed against her ribs.
"You knew my father?"
He set his glass down.
"Unfortunately."
The word chilled her.
"What does that mean?"
"It means your father and I have unfinished business."
Isabella forced herself to stand straight.
"If you're referring to the debt, I know about it. I don't have the money, but I'll find a way to repay it."
"Will you?"
"Yes."
"How?"
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
His expression remained cold.
"Your father owed my family a considerable amount of money. You have no assets, no wealthy relatives, and no realistic means of settling the debt."
"Then why are you telling me this?"
"Because I have another solution."
She stared at him.
"What solution?"
Alessandro stepped closer.
He was taller than she had expected, and there was something unsettling about the calmness with which he regarded her.
"Marry me."
For a moment, Isabella thought she had misunderstood.
"What?"
"You heard me."
She let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"I don't joke about marriage."
"Then you must be insane."
One of the men beside him stiffened.
Alessandro, however, looked almost amused.
"You have a great deal of courage for someone standing in a room full of people who would rather avoid upsetting me."
"And you have a strange way of proposing to a woman."
"I'm not proposing romance, Miss Romano. I'm offering you a business arrangement."
He continued before she could respond.
"A legally valid marriage. Twelve months. You will play the role of my wife in public, follow the conditions of our agreement, and keep your distance from my private affairs."
"And in exchange?"
"Your father's debt disappears. Your family receives financial security. Your sister receives the medical treatment she needs."
Isabella stopped breathing for a moment.
He knew about Sophia.
Of course he knew.
A man like Alessandro Moretti would not make an offer without first learning everything he could about the person receiving it.
"Why me?" she asked.
His eyes held hers.
"That is not a question you need to concern yourself with."
"It is if you're asking me to marry you."
For the first time, his expression hardened.
"Then perhaps you should concern yourself with the alternative."
The words struck harder than a threat shouted across the room.
Isabella looked at him, searching for any sign of hesitation.
There was none.
She thought about her mother.
Sophia.
The hospital bills.
The debt.
Forty-eight hours.
"What happens if I refuse?"
Alessandro picked up his glass.
"Then we have nothing more to discuss."
He turned away, dismissing her as though the decision had already been made.
Isabella stood frozen.
She had expected a threat.
She had expected cruelty.
She had not expected him to make the decision so difficult.
"Wait."
He paused.
She hated the desperation in her voice.
"How do I know you'll keep your promises?"
Alessandro turned back.
"You'll have a written agreement prepared by my lawyers. The financial arrangements will be documented. Your sister's treatment will be funded separately."
"And after twelve months?"
"If neither of us wishes to continue the marriage, we can pursue a divorce."
She swallowed.
"Why do you need a wife so badly?"
His expression changed again.
For the briefest moment, she saw something dark behind his eyes.
"Because, Isabella, some enemies are more easily defeated when they believe you have something worth protecting."
Before she could ask what he meant, he extended his hand.
"Do we have an agreement?"
Isabella looked at his hand.
She imagined taking it and walking away.
She imagined returning to her family's apartment and explaining that she had failed.
She imagined Sophia asking whether the hospital had called.
Then she remembered her father's signature on the debt agreement.
Perhaps Alessandro knew what had happened to him.
Perhaps marrying him would bring her closer to the truth.
Or perhaps it would destroy everything she had left.
She raised her eyes to his.
"I want to read every word of the contract before I sign anything."
Something flickered across his face.
Approval, perhaps.
"Good."
"And my family will never be threatened because of this agreement."
"Agreed."
"My sister gets the treatment she needs, whether or not you decide you like me."
His mouth tightened.
"Agreed."
"And you don't get to control every part of my life just because I'm your wife."
This time, he almost smiled.
"You negotiate aggressively, Miss Romano."
"I have a lot to lose."
For several seconds, they stared at each other.
Then Alessandro held out his hand again.
"Tomorrow morning, my lawyers will contact you."
Isabella did not take his hand.
"Tomorrow morning, I'll decide whether to listen."
She turned and walked away before he could answer.
Her heart was pounding so hard that she barely noticed the people she passed.
She had not accepted the offer.
Not yet.
But she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
Her life would never be the same.
Behind her, Alessandro watched her disappear through the ballroom doors.
Matteo Ricci approached him.
"Are you certain she's the right choice?"
Alessandro picked up his glass.
"No."
Matteo frowned.
"Then why her?"
Alessandro looked toward the doors Isabella had just passed through.
Because Gabriel Romano had died carrying a secret.
Because that secret had cost Alessandro more than he was willing to admit.
And because, three days earlier, a message had arrived containing a name he thought he would never see again.
Isabella Romano.
He lowered his voice.
"Find out everything her father told her before he died."
Matteo hesitated.
"And if she knows nothing?"
Alessandro's expression turned cold.
"Then we make certain she never discovers the truth from someone else."
Across the city, Isabella returned home believing that she had forty-eight hours to save her family.
She did not know that Alessandro Moretti had already begun investigating her.
And she did not know that the man offering to save her family might be the same man standing between her and the truth about her father's death.
