The Don's Tortured Obsession

Debt Slave

CHAPTER 3

Debt Slave

LILA'S POV

Cold water hit my cheek. I stirred. Eyes up to the roof. Another bubble gathered from the c***k above before falling again.

I didn’t know how long I’d been down here anymore. Hours maybe, Days. Another drop landed on my skin. And then suddenly.

“Don’t hold the wall, Lila.”

Mom’s laughter echoed across the ice rink. I was eight, clinging to the edge while my skates wobbled everywhere. “You’ll never learn like that,” she teased.

Then I fell. Hard.

I remembered looking up at her with tears in my eyes while she smiled and held out her hand. “You fall. You get back up. That’s the rule.”

The memory disappeared as the door slammed open. My body tensed. A guard walked in carrying a tray with bread and water. He dropped it onto the table in front of me with a thud.

“Eat.”

I glanced at the tray before looking away. My stomach twisted. Of all the things I was going through. Food was the last thing I thought about.

“I’m not hungry.”

“If you pass out,” he muttered, “we start over slower.”

The door opened again before I could answer. Another guard entered carrying a metal case.

The sound of instruments clinking together made my chest tighten immediately.

Then Lucien walked in behind them. Black gloves in one hand. A gun holster strapped across his chest. My eyes turned to the tray on the table as the guard laid them carefully. Pliers. A scalpel. A syringe. I shifted my gaze immediately as fear crawled up my skin.

He sat across me without saying a word at first. Neither of us talked then. “How long have you been using the name Lila Hart?” My throat went dry. I counted three times before I realized I was holding my breath. The Question from yesterday still hung.

“That’s my name.”

“Is it?” His tone stayed cold.

I swallowed. “Yes.”

One of the guards handed him the tablet from yesterday. Lucien barely looked at it before tossing it onto the table in front of me.

Behold. My pictures stared back at me from the screen. Outside the hospital, Entering Saint Aurelius Hotel, Waiting at a bus stop, Walking out of a pharmacy with Mom’s medication in my hands.

Cold spread through my chest. They've been watching me for a long time now. “What is this?” I whispered.

“Your file,” one of the guards answered.

My hands started trembling. Under the photos was written every piece of my life. Organized into bullet points. From debt history, Missed payments, Delivery logs, Hospital bills. Every nasty little struggle I’d tried to survive alone was documented.

He leaned back, watching my face. “You owe the Marchettis eighty-seven thousand dollars.”

I didn’t reply. Because it wasn't a question.

“You started working for them eight months ago after your mother’s chemotherapy treatments increased.”

I didn't reply. He already knew.

“You panic every time someone raises their voice at you,” Lucien said suddenly. I looked up.

“You flinch before people touch you,” he continued calmly. “Your pulse increases every time someone raises a weapon.”

The room felt too tight around me. One of the guards crossed his arms. “It could still be her acting.”

“Maybe,” But he didn’t sound convinced. His eyes stayed fixed on me. “You don’t react like syndicate personnel.”

“I told you already,” I whispered. “I’m not part of any syndicate.” “Then why were you carrying stolen Moretti intel?”

“I don’t know.” My voice came out louder than I intended. Silence settled in for a moment and I looked away first. God, I hated this. I hated how weak I sounded. Weak people didn’t survive in the mafia world. Lucien stood slowly from his chair. Walked around the table and stopped beside me. “You’re either very good at lying, or someone wanted you to carry that packet without you knowing.”

Fear settled in completely. Because deep down. I’d started wondering the same thing. A loud sound echoed through the compound from outside. Every guard reached for their weapon. Another shot echoed through the air. I tried not to pass out. That was the only plan I had. But my whole body jolted before I could do something.

“Sniper!” one of the guards shouted. Gunshots continued loudly outside. Heavy footsteps echoed above.

And all of a sudden, I found it hard to breathe. The room started to turn. My heart began to beat faster. Just like that the memories came in a rush. The driver soaked in blood. Mom coughing blood into the white hospital sheets. Dad holding a duffel bag.

Another shot rang out from outside, causing me to flinch so hard that the chair shifted backward. One of the guards roughly grabbed my arm and commanded, “Get her up.” I let out a scream making everyone freeze in place. Pulled away sharply, struggling for breath as my hands and lips went cold. The room seemed to spin around as I gasped for air, “Don’t touch me. ”

The men noticed my struggle. with one of them saying, “Don… She's having a panic attack.”

I hated those words, but my body had already betrayed me. Another round of gunfire landed and that did it. Silence stretched for a moment.

“Lila.” A voice cut through. Low. And I barely heard him. Then suddenly he was crouched in front of me. His gloved hand gripped my jaw firmly, turning my unfocused gaze toward him. “Look at me.” Another c***k outside. And I jerked back suddenly.

“I can’t breathe.”

“You can.”

His voice never rose.

Like chaos simply obeyed him.

“Breathe properly.”

My chest burned with ache.

I tried. But I failed. Lucien grabbed my cuffed hands suddenly and pressed them flat against his chest.

“Focus.” The word landed harder than the shouting outside. “Feel that?” he said. “Steady.” My trembling fingers curled weakly against his shirt. I could feel his steady heartbeat beneath my palms, calm and controlled, mirroring his own demeanor. “Breathe along with it,” he instructed. The room continued to swirl around me, yet he remained.

“Once more,” he ordered. I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the air filled my lungs, Enough for me to finally breathe again. Lucien studied me for another second before standing up. His hand reached for his gun from the holster.

“Get her out of here,” he ordered. The guards moved immediately. “Service tunnel. Garage. Put her in my armored car.”

One of the men hesitated. “Don… ”

Lucien’s gaze snapped toward him. “And if so much as a scratch ends up on her,” he said calmly, “I’ll bury you two myself tonight.”

The car engine roared to life beneath us.

Gunfire cracked closer now, right above the garage.

Lucien slid into the driver’s seat beside me, his eyes never leaving the rearview mirror.

“If they want you dead,” he said quietly, “they’ll have to go through me first.”

The tires screeched as we sped out into the dark.

And I realized: I wasn’t a prisoner anymore.

I was bait.